


their mortal armor

by neroh



Series: my saints fallen [4]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Eggsy, Enemies to Allies, Espionage, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Multiple, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reunions, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Harry's unexpected return, Kingsman learns that something more sinister is at work when Eggsy deflects in what seems to be a suicide mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sincerest thank you to Bre for betaing and putting up with me. Leah, Dommi, and Ronald...thank you for being my guinea pigs. You're all the greatest!
> 
> The mixes are located [here](http://8tracks.com/boldly/oxfords-not-brogues) and [here](http://8tracks.com/boldly/do-you-realize).

He receives the message during luncheon.

It is a typical lunch of _spanakopita_ and a traditional Greek salad in a very typical Mykonos eatery overlooking the water.

Harry Hart has stayed in Little Venice for longer than he had planned, having become enchanted by the charming white houses and tiled streets surrounded by the sea, so turquoise that he wonders if he’s dreaming.

No one pays much attention to him, thinking him just another Englishman on holiday. He sleeps, he explores his surroundings, and he tries not to think of events not too long passed.

All the walking he’s done gives Harry’s skin a sun-kissed color, reminiscent of his days as a young Kingsman in exotic locales.

It had been an adventure then; a time where he was unstoppable and the world laid at his feet, demanding Harry to conquer it as if he was Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan. And he had - with his training, his gentlemanly airs, and technology - Harry rose through the ranks.

Excitement had pulsed through his veins, never-ending and always at the ready until he found himself beaten.

And in love.

He eats a morsel of his meal, trying not to notice how it sticks to his throat when he thinks of Eggsy. Harry surmises that no matter where he is in the world, his mind will not allow him a moment’s respite as the young man haunts him at all hours of the day.

There are times when Harry is looking at the Chora windmills or wets his feet in the waters of Elias Beach and he’ll think to himself _Eggsy would enjoy this_. Then he realizes that the young man is not at his side by the older man’s own choosing.

It’s a miserable thing, memory, with all its cruelty and sadness.

Then again, Harry is the one who did the leaving. His actions may have the sting of regret, but he tries to convince himself that it’s for the best - Eggsy needs Kingsman more than he needs Harry. The boy may be upset for a time, but he is young and will recover from heartbreak far more easily than he.

Harry continues eating his meal and mentally plans out the rest of his afternoon activities. Keeping busy is always a good way to avoid one's’ thoughts for a while and Mykonos has much to see.

Perhaps a visit to the Folklore Museum is in order, followed by dinner and retiring early.

It’s then his phone dings cheerily, alerting him to a message received. The alert is unassuming, as any SMS is, though Harry finds his heart beating faster long after the sound fades from his ears.

He looks at the sleek touchscreen until it’s gone black before setting down his utensils and wiping his hands with the napkin in his lap. Harry picks up the device and enters his passcode, a four-digit set of numbers, no different from anyone else’s phone.

There isn’t much to be shuffling through in terms of messages and the newest stares up at him, taunting him with what knowledge it contains.

“Shit,” the man grumbles as he taps it.

Merlin has realized that Harry is alive, given the encryption used to the deliver the message. Archimedes, he named it with a measure of smug satisfaction and a great deal of teasing from Harry. It was meant to be an untraceable messaging system, though Merlin never gave it over to Arthur nor told him about its development.

A sense of relief floods him, followed by the feeling of dread.

Harry goes to read the message, his hands shaking.

 _Eggsy needs you_ , it reads.

Three words, so simply put and yet they manage to turn his world upside down. The irony is not lost on Harry.

 

* * *

 

“How is he?” Arthur asks before taking a sip out of a Styrofoam cup. 

She turns to Merlin and quietly waits for his answer. He shrugs and removes his glasses to clean them off with a handkerchief. “Dr. Hanover says that his blood pressure has gone down considerably,” Merlin replies. He looks up, noticing the expression on Arthur’s face—the one where she’s deeply concerned if anything else. “Xavier is adamant that we keep Galahad sedated for another twenty-four hours.”

“That is not an ideal answer,” Arthur comments.

“What about this is ideal, Jenny?”

The subject of their conversation lies just beyond them, unconscious in a hospital bed, oblivious to the continued commotion surrounding him.

To anyone else, Eggsy Unwin appears to be a young man resting, though if they looked closer they would see the saline bag hanging above the bed. The seemingly innocent medical equipment pumps a sedative into the young man’s veins, thus keeping him under until they decide on what to do next.

Merlin doesn’t agree with the method, though he knows that Kingsman cannot deal without another scandal so shortly on the heels of the previous Arthur. Yes, this will keep Eggsy and everyone else safe, but he is more concerned about the long term.

There’s taking the lad off duty for a time, _long-term leave_ as they call it, though Merlin suspects that Eggsy will remain in Kingsman custody while attending therapy sessions and any other hoops that the Table makes him jump through.

It is a good thing that the Kingsman has proven to be an asset and that he’s well-liked by his comrades. Even Arthur will privately admit her soft spot for the young man.

And if Harry has done what Merlin has done expected him to, taking Archimedes with him to his so-called death, then he will be here as well.

Perhaps his friend’s appearance will ease the burden Eggsy carries, or it could very well make it worse.

In truth, the current circumstances could not get any worse, if Merlin is honest with himself. It sickens him to see his colleague in such a terrible state—so fragile and despondent. When Harry decides to make his grand entrance, Merlin thinks he may punch him in the jaw for what he’s done.

“It is strange that it’s only been several hours,” Arthur muses as she tosses the coffee cup into the rubbish bin. She doesn’t look at him, her steely gaze firmly set on Eggsy and his mother, who has fallen asleep in the chair next to his bed. “I feel as if a lifetime has passed me by.”

Merlin nods in agreement. “That makes two of us.”

“Do you think he will really come, Hamish?” she questions.

 _He_ being the elusive Harry Hart, a man who’s supposed to be dead. Who _should_ be dead, but has managed to defy God and give him the finger. 

“I thought I knew him better than anyone else,” Merlin intones, casting a rueful smile in Arthur’s direction. “And yet, it seems I may have been wrong.”

“Death or near-death does odd things to a person’s psyche,” his superior says softly. “He is still Harry Hart.”

He shrugs. “Is he though?”

They lapse back into a deafening silence that makes Merlin’s ears burn. After all, there isn’t much to say or question. Harry left the organization and popped up to rescue his protégé, then seduce and discard him, something which Merlin frowns upon and thinks is quite untoward.

And so _unlike_ Harry.

Perhaps Arthur’s statement is correct and his friend is struggling with his own demons, though it does not excuse what he’s done to Eggsy.

“Ironic,” Merlin grumbles, tapping his finger against the glass of his iPad.

“What’s ironic?” Arthur inquires.

He sighs. “This, watching him,” he replies, gesturing towards the young man. “I stood in the exact spot not that long ago as Harry lay comatose while Galahad fretted.”

“He must have been a recruit then,” Arthur gasps.

Merlin acknowledges her with a nod. “He was, and I told him to make Harry proud. Which he did, I assure you.”

“That does not surprise me,” she says. “Galahad is a resourceful and dedicated Kingsman.” She touches his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “We will bring him back, Hamish. No one is about to give up on him just yet.”

 

* * *

 

Eggsy dreams up the strangest things; he is used to recalling shards of memory from life events, past missions, or fantastical details that would never truly exist.

When he was still a boy, he would write them down in a journal that his father had given him. The dreams would tell him a story and later, would provide comfort when his life went to shit. It was in a way that Eggsy could never describe to anyone.

There had been a time once when he tried to articulate it to Roxy. She seemed puzzled by his broken sentences and long pauses, looking at him with a certain type of sympathy that he wasn’t used to. Eggsy finally gave up, flustered, and felt the soft touch of Roxy’s hand upon his arm. “The mind is a strange place, Unwin.”

Now things are different; his friend is not here to confide in and his mind is fractured.

Or just a glutton for punishment.

Harry invades his unconscious thoughts with a vengeance; his mere presence is sending Eggsy into a tailspin. He cannot wake here - the sedatives are meant to keep him under—and he finds himself held hostage in the older man’s dimly light bedroom.

It has not changed since he last saw this place in person. Every detail is where it should be down to how the lamp casts over their skin, turning it golden like a flame.

The grandfather clock chimes down the hallway, the tune muffled by Harry’s bedroom door. Their clothing is scattered amongst the floor, careless and forgotten. Eggsy knows that his lover’s button-down will wrinkle if they don’t hang it soon, and he doubts that Harry would want to take the time to iron when there are other more important things at hand.

Eggsy watches as Harry makes his way down his abdomen, brushing his lips against the young man’s skin like a whisper. His tongue teases each ridge and valley of muscle, pausing to swirl a wet semi-circle around his navel.

“I’ve missed you, my darling boy,” Harry murmurs, glancing up at his lover with warm, chocolate brown eyes.

It’s the first time they’ve spoken in his dreams, and just hearing his baritone sends a shiver down of pure _want_ down Eggsy’s spine. He wets his lips, a nervous habit. “Why did you leave me?” he finally asks, his voice breaking on the last syllables.

“I’ve missed you,” the older man croons, continuing on with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and love bites.

Eggsy feels the textured press of Harry’s tongue on the underside of his cock, licking, licking, licking until it runs up and over. “Harry…” he groans, his head dropping back as wet heat engulfs him.

He remembers this from their brief time in Russia, tangled in bedsheets and each other. Harry’s mouth had been magnificent, slowly driving Eggsy out of his mind with pleasure until he could hardly form a single word upon his tongue.

Harry holds him down by the hips, pinning him to the mattress as his head bobs up and down Eggsy’s length. He winks up at the younger man when he attempts to roll his hips, clearly amused by the aborted movement.

“Harry,” Eggsy grunts out. He forces himself to keep his eyes open and not to give in. “Why did you leave me? I just want to know why.”

Cool air surrounds his aching cock. “Do you truly want to know?” Harry asks, removing a hand from Eggsy’s hip and running his fingers up his side. He seems marveled by the sight in front of him; of taut muscle, fair skin. Of life. “Would it ease your mind if I told you?”

“Yes, Harry,” he cries, going to reach for him.

His fingers encounter air. Eggsy blinks, startled by Harry’s sudden absence. It is morning now and the sun is streaming through the windows of the bedroom.

In the distance, a constant beep fills the otherwise quiet house.

Shaking, Eggsy reaches for a pair of pajama bottoms and pulls them on before setting off towards the source of the noise.

He knows this part—where he finds himself abandoned and Harry is gone, having fled in the night.

Each step he takes causes his heart to bound slightly faster and his stomach to knot just a bit more. Eggsy wraps his arms around himself, digging his fingernails into his biceps. “Harry?” he calls over the beeping that grows louder upon his approach.

A stair creaks under his weight, otherwise, there’s no answer.

He enters the kitchen because that’s how this story goes, wincing at the high pitched whine of the tracker. Eggsy goes to pick it up, staring at the device before smashing into the table with his bare hand. The splintered plastic cuts into his palm, causing him to cry out.

“Are you certain you want to do that, Eggsy?” Harry asks.

The young man gasps at his lover’s sudden reappearance. “You came back,” he exclaims, over the insistent sound of the tracker, still active despite the damage caused to it.

Astonished, Eggsy glances down at his hand and finds it embedded in the center of his palm, like a science experiment gone awry.

He opens his mouth to scream and realizes that he’s awake, surrounded by medical staff. His wrists and ankles are being held down upon the hospital bed, for all he kicks and squirms.

“How did you allow him to go so long without another dose?” Dr. Hanover shouts. He is holding a syringe in his latex covered hands.

Someone must reply, though Eggsy can’t discern what they tell the doctor.

“Incompetent!” Hanover growls, turning his attention back to his patient. “You’ll feel better in just a moment, Galahad.”

Eggsy’s eyes widen as the port to his IV is uncapped. “No!” he yells. “No! No! Don’t do it! I’m fine!” He lunges away, only to be pulled back into place. “Stop!”

The pointed end of the syringe catches the light, then descends into the port. In horror, the young man freezes as the contents are pushed through.

“How’s his blood pressure?” the doctor inquires.

“Better,” a nurse replies.

The sedative hits his system faster than Eggsy is prepared for. His head lolls lazily about his neck, then drops back onto the pillow. Blinking deliberately, he tries to focus on the panicked voice of his mother.

“What happened?” she demands, her face appearing above him. She touches his forehead. “I left for five minutes and come back to find the cavalry! What the bloody hell happened?”

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, numb and dry. “Mum,” Eggsy slurs, or at least tries to.

“It’s all right, my baby,” she assures him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Her fingers brush his hair off his face as a tired smile appears on her lips. “Mummy’s here, Eggsy.”

His vision blurs, as it always does when they’ve dosed him. A sign that he will fall unconscious shortly.

That’s an understatement, Eggsy muses while trying to fight off the need to close his eyes. He idly hopes that Daisy won’t see him like this, knowing that his current condition could frighten his little sister. She’s far too young to understand what’s happening…it wouldn’t be right for her to be here.

He loses consciousness on the next exhale.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Merlin,” Hanover exclaims over the phone.

He shoves the mobile under his chin, trying to balance his laptop bag, briefcase, and jacket while unlocking the door to his flat. “If you could elaborate on what _it_ is, Xavier, I would greatly appreciate it,” Merlin grouses. The keys slip from his fingers and land on the floor. “Shit, bugger, fuck, piss, arse!”

“I beg your pardon?” the doctor questions, astonished by his colleague’s foul language.

Merlin groans. “Not _you_ ,” he snaps, dexterously reaching for his keys and hooking the chain with his pinkie finger. On the next attempt, Merlin lets himself into his flat with a relieved sigh. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Galahad’s blood pressure spiked to two hundred over one hundred in a matter of minutes,” Hanover says in disbelief.

He drops his briefcase on the floor. “That should have killed him!” Merlin gasps.

“I agree,” the doctor replies. “Even more astonishing is that he was aware of the activity around him. Once I sedated him, Galahad’s BP began decreasing and continued to do so after he went back under.”

Merlin hangs his coat upon the rack in his entryway and proceeds to his office where he sets down his laptop bag on his desk. “Do you have any ideas of what could have caused this?” he asks, leaving the room.

“It could be a number of things, Merlin,” Hanover tells him. “Post-traumatic anxiety, sleep deprivation, the mattress is too lumpy.”

The last bit rouses a chuckle. “Xavier, be serious for a change,” he says as he comes into his living room having decided that a nightcap is necessary.

“We drew several samples of blood, and my team is currently examining his panels,” his colleague explains. “I’ll know more in the morning.”

Merlin sighs at this. “Very well,” he grumbles. He doesn’t like the unknown - part of the reason why he became a scientist - and the current situation hits a bit close to home.

Knowing that Eggsy is suffering pulls at Merlin’s heartstrings.

“I promise you that we’ll figure this out, Hamish,” Hanover assures, using his given name.

He flicks on the light switch and nearly stumbles at the threshold, his heart suddenly leaping into his throat. Sitting in his favorite _fucking_ chair is Harry Hart, all casual-like with his hair grown out to wavy profusion, wearing jeans and a black crewneck under a pea jacket of the same color.

The bloody cheek—whom Merlin believed to be dead until a day ago—doesn’t even have the decency to wear a suit, much less a respectable pair of shoes.

“Merlin?” Hanover calls in his ear. “Did the call drop?”

He shakes his head, going to adjust his glasses. “I’ll need to phone you back,” Merlin tells him before hanging up without an explanation.

They stare at each other, neither man speaking, as the air goes unnaturally still in the living room.

Merlin finds himself blinking, wondering if he has gone mad, but each time he opens his eyes, Harry is still there, looking back and waiting.

It seems that after a period of uncomfortable silence, his friend takes it upon himself to break the proverbial ice and stands, running his hands over the material of his coat.

“Hamish,” Harry says as he takes a step forward. “It’s been a while.”

In response, Merlin socks him in the jaw.


	2. Chapter 2

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Harry bellows, clutching his jaw, as Merlin shouts, “What the _fuck_ , Harry!”

They glare at each other, clearly seething at their reunion gone awry.

“You _punched_ me in the _face_!” Harry counters, rubbing the darkened skin. “Is that how you greet people nowadays?”

Merlin shoves him. “Are you fucking with me?” he growls. “Of course not! I greet people with a handshake, but you’re a bloody wanker is what you are!”

“A wanker?” Harry counters, aghast. “How am I a wanker? You messaged me, so I came and you _punched_ me in the bloody face like some Eton schoolboy having a row with his dormmate!”

“I _went_ to Eton, you prick!”

His friend grins. “They never did teach those boys manners, unlike Winchester College,” Harry quips, removing his jacket and tossing it onto the nearest surface. “Where _we_ were civilized.”

“Bastard!” Merlin yells, charging the other man and grabbing him by the middle. He plows him into the nearest cabinet, shattering glass and porcelain teacups with their combined body weight. “Henry VI founded Eton!”

“Ah yes, that ninny,” Harry grunts, delivering a punch to Merlin’s side. “He couldn’t stomach a _real_ fight like someone else I know!”

Merlin finds himself being practically tossed into the media center, sending a pile of DVDs clattering to the floor. He feels a bit of wetness dripping down his chin and upon wiping it with his hand, realizing that his lip is bleeding. “At least my school founder wasn’t a Holy Bishop _prick_!”

“A Holy Bishop prick whose pupils _actually_ fought in wars,” Harry snaps, suddenly in Merlin’s face.

He gives him another shove. “Clearly some of you didn’t,” he hisses. “Some of _you_ fake your fucking deaths like an arsehole!”

It’s enough of a distraction to sucker punch Harry in the cheek.

The man topples backward and Merlin is on him, sending blow after blow as Harry blocks them.

“And some of you Old Etonians have lost your manners!” he counters, shoving Merlin off of him and trapping his waist below his thighs.

Merlin squirms, alternately slapping and poking his friend in the back. “You fucking arse, fucking arsing off to God knows where and leaving us to pick up the pieces!” he spews.

“Stop! Poking! Me!” Harry demands, pushing his palm into Merlin’s face. “You punch like your grandmother, Hamish! YOU BIT ME!”

The tang of his friend’s skin fills his mouth, followed by the open-handed slap Merlin receives to his cheek. “Of course I did!” he yells, poking Harry again. “I’ll punch you again if you’d like and I’ll have you know, my grandmother had a wicked left hook!”

“She also thought you were a prat!”

They are off again, this time throwing themselves into the liquor cabinet. More glass falls upon them as well as copious amounts of alcohol. Some of the bottles rebound off their bodies and roll onto the floor without so much as of sound while others shatter and lead whiskey, bourbon, and vodka all over their clothing.

“Take it back, you wanker!” Merlin shrieks, grabbing one of the bottles and pouring the remnants onto Harry’s face.

The other man cries out at the sting, kicking him off of his person. “I will do no such thing!”

More punches are thrown until each man has bloodied and swollen knuckles and are laying on the floor, chests heaving. Their surroundings is a cyclone of disaster, consisting of upturned furniture, broken knickknacks, and a very expensive bottle of scotch that has been impaled into Merlin’s flat screen television.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his ribs aching.

Harry makes a sound of agreement, then hisses as he places his palm into a pile of glass. “Bollocks!”

“Serves you right, you arsehole,” Merlin tells him, suddenly calm. “Arsing off without a word and then coming back like you did.”

His friend must move again, this time with less painful results. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“ _Obviously_ , you tit,” Merlin grouses. He turns his head to find Harry leaning against the back of the couch. Just seeing him there brings tears to his eyes. “I missed you. We all did, but I missed you most of all.”

Harry sighs heavily, clearly just as affected as himself. “I missed you, too, you pillock,” he replies, wiping his eyes. He lets out a sudden laugh, a sad and lonely sound. “Oh, Hamish, I really cocked it up this time, didn’t I?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Merlin tells him, slowly getting to his knees. He winces and forces himself to stand, even if he sways during the first moments of being upright. “Jenny will have plenty to say on the matter.”

“Jenny?” Harry echoes. “Genevieve Connaught?”

Merlin nods as he limps over to what’s left of the liquor cabinet, plucking two glasses and a bottle of bourbon from the wreckage. “She’s our new Arthur.”

“No shit,” the other man says, awed. “Well, she’s no slouch, that’s for certain, and wicked smart. Perfect for the job, really.”

He rolls his eyes as he pours them a drink. “Yes, I am glad you approve,” Merlin mumbles, oozing sarcasm. “I shall let her know when I speak to her.”

Harry limps over to him, using the couch as a makeshift crutch until he is standing in close enough proximity for Merlin to give him a tumbler. He accepts it with gratitude and sips the drink, wincing as the alcohol makes contact with his cut up lip. “Bugger,” Harry curses.

“If you’re expecting an apology, you’ll be waiting for a while,” Merlin tells him, leaning against the cabinet. He brings the drink to his mouth and chuckles. “At least a few months, maybe a year.”

His friend rolls his eyes. “I shall wait with bated breath.”

They finish the first round in silence and Merlin pours them another. “It only took you ten hours,” he comments, screwing the top back onto the bottle. “Where did you fuck off from?”

“Mykonos,” Harry answers.

“Greece? Really? Even after the Hellenic Shitstorm of 1990?”

Harry sighs. “It was 1991,” he counters, emphasizing the year. “And yes.” His finger taps the glass as he gathers his thoughts. “I enjoy the quiet.”

“I beg to differ, friend. The middle of bumfuck Russia is probably quieter than Mykonos,” Merlin says, catching the alarmed glimmer in Harry’s eyes. He shrugs, knowingly. “I found your DNA in Eggsy’s mouth swab.”

It surprises him to see Harry become flustered, blushing pink from embarrassment, as he is not one to boast about his conquests. The other man sets his glass down upon the cabinet, sighing heavily. “I regret that.”

“Which part, Harry?”

He shrugs. “The fucking off in the middle of the night without a word part,” Harry whispers, his voice breaking at his admittance. He runs a trembling hand through his hair.

“Then why did you do it?” Merlin implores, trying not to press his friend too much. He deserves an answer—if not _more_ —but it will not do if Harry does another disappearing act.

“I knew that if I stayed, Eggsy would have to make a difficult choice— being with me or returning to Kingsman,” Harry starts off, his voice becoming quieter until he’s lost in obvious thought.

Merlin raises a brow. “So you made the choice for him,” he adds, watching his friend bow his head.

“I did what I needed to do,” Harry says curtly. “What life could I have offered him? We would have to conceal our identities, always be on the run…it would be no life at all!”

He palms his face, annoyed by what he’s hearing. “Or there was the alternative, Harry!” he exclaims. “You could have come back with him and resumed your duties…retired if you wanted. You didn’t have to do _this_!”

“Resumed my duties,” Harry snickers. He kicks the cabinet, much to Merlin’s vocal protest. “What use would I have been? Put on administrative duties or quietly retired out with full honors? Be the legend whispered about in the corridors while the young ones ignore the tic in my hand? Is that truly a life, Hamish?”

Merlin wants to shake him by the shoulders until his neck aches and Harry is dizzy. “And the existence you have is better?”

“I have made many enemies along the way,” the former Kingsman intones. “I do not want Eggsy or his family to bear the burden of their grudges towards me.”

“I can assure you that Eggsy can handle himself,” Merlin states, affronted.

They stare at each other, neither man capable of coming up with more insults or punches. It’s a strange reunion, that’s for certain, but it provides much-needed catharsis for Merlin. Sighing, he looks around his living room and slumps his shoulders.

“I reckon I should clean this up,” he tells Harry.

Ever polite, even after a row, his friend nods. “I’ll help you. Do you still keep the vacuum in the same place?”

 

* * *

 

There are moments where Eggsy can almost scratch the surface of his conscious. 

He sees flashes of Dr. Hanover’s bushy eyebrows, the freckles sprinkled over his mum’s nose, Arthur’s voice—distant for she never enters the room—asking about his prognosis. Sometimes Roxy is there; he knows this because he can smell her perfume. They last for only several moments before the sweet abyss comes to claim Eggsy once more.

As an undetermined amount of time passes, he becomes aware of the frequency and vivid detail that accompany his surroundings. Eggsy can recognize sound, images, and sensation—each piece coming back slowly but surely until he knows…

He inhales sharply, his entire body jerking in response as his brain suddenly kicks in. Eggsy feels as if someone has hit the on-switch and he’s no longer trapped in a fog. Opening his eyes, he finds himself alone; he suspects that he’s hardly been alone since being admitted to the hospital.

The lights in his hospital room are off, though the corridor fluorescents provide him with enough to see.

 _Standard private room, single occupancy,_ Eggsy muses as he gathers his wits. _Meant for serious, but stable patients. Location is in the northeast quadrant; quiet. Not a lot of foot traffic._

Now that’s been sorted, it’s time for him to remove the IV line from the top of his hand and a Foley catheter…which Eggsy reckons will be the worst of it.

He shifts under the blankets, using his hands to guide him to his flaccid penis. As he touches it, the sensation of flesh and plastic tubing greets him just Eggsy suspected. Spreading his legs and bending them at the knee, the young man relaxes by staring up at the ceiling.

 _Like havin’ a wank,_ Eggsy thinks to himself, sucking in a deep breath while seizing the tube at his urethral opening. _Except with less than desirable results._

On the next exhale he pulls, biting his bottom lip as a sharp sting fills his lower body. It radiates into his abdomen, peaking for a single, awful moment before relief sets in as the tube exits his person.

Eggsy allows himself to pant audibly, blinking back tears as he continues looking at the ceiling. Sniffing and wiping his eyes, he lifts himself onto his elbows to view the hallway.

No one is coming.

Keeping his vision on the outside of his hospital room, Eggsy quickly removes the IV with far less melodrama than the catheter.

Next are the electrodes stuck to his chest; they will need to come off after he’s powered down the monitors next to the bed. It marvels him how second nature his actions are, none of which has been a part of his Kingsman training.

 _Kingsman,_ Eggsy curses silently as he rips the electrodes from his skin. It’s a dirty word now, on par with a Neo Nazi, terrorist, or worse.

He glances down at his forearm, the pale flesh illuminated from outside. The tracker is buried inside, having been put there by Merlin.

Gritting his teeth like a feral animal, Eggsy searches the room for something to disable it until he’s able to remove it. His eyes fall upon a defibrillator, standing idly and plugged into the wall as if they expected or _wanted_ Eggsy to flatline.

He doesn’t remember leaving the bed; just the cool tile flooring against the soles of his feet and the smooth surface of the medical device in his hand.

It’s easy enough to operate thanks to the power text placed above a green button. Eggsy fiddles with the settings as the machine readies its charge, chirping when everything is clear to go. He holds the paddle over the area where Merlin injected the tracker, still bruised and puffy.

The shock surprises him into gasping out in pain.

Eggsy can see the reddened skin, looking like a sunburn, though the shape of it is obvious enough.

“One second,” someone calls from the hallway. It’s not Dr. Hanover or anyone who he’s familiar with, but it’s an obstacle in the way of his freedom all the same. “Need to check on Galahad before we go about the other rounds.”

He flattens himself against the wall, inching his free hand to the defibrillator controls to turn them up and ready it for another charge.

The nurse comes into the room, their nose buried into the clipboard they hold.

A sneer pulls at Eggsy’s mouth, knowing that this person is thinking that he’s still incapacitated. The nurse passes him by, not even noticing that he’s not in the bed until Eggsy assaults them. He presses the paddle onto the nurse’s back and pulls the trigger, watching them jerk and collapse onto the ground.

The scent of burnt cloth and sweat reaches his nostrils as the Kingsman kneels down to retrieve the fallen body’s keycard from their belt hook.

Creeping towards the door, Eggsy observes the hallway for its security measures. _Camera located at thirteen paces beneath archway. Second camera parallel to first one,_ he summarizes.

He looks down at his flimsy hospital gown, knowing that a change is in order. The nurse looks about his size, given an inch or two. Save for the defibrillator mark, it’s a decent enough disguise.

Without dexterous maneuvers, Eggsy leaves the hospital room wearing scrubs and a squeaky pair of trainers. They’re a bit tight in the toes and the scrubs loose across the shoulders, but one cannot be choosy in the event of escaping.

His gown is balled up in his hands, which Eggsy dumps into a trash bin as he hurries past the nurse’s station. The floor is relatively empty—it’s nearly half past eleven after all—thus making this seemingly a cake walk.

If Eggsy has learned one thing in his service with Kingsman, it’s that not everything appears as is.

He snatches a scalpel from an unguarded tray, pressing the makeshift weapon into the inseam of his arm. _Weapon acquired,_ Eggsy thinks to himself as he catches a sign for the lifts.

“Oi, Martinez,” someone calls, their voice too loud in his ears. “Where you think you’re headin’ off to?”

Pulse quickening and defenses heightening, Eggsy freezes for a second. “Gettin’ a new top,” he replies, voice muffled. “This one soiled, yeah?”

“Well hurry the fuck up,” they say. “We still have more rounds!”

He waves them off, hurrying towards the elevators. Eggsy pulls the keycard from his pocket and is about to swipe it when the doors open.

Dr. Hanover walks onto the floor, engrossed in his iPad, as he brushes by Eggsy. “Pardon me,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to look up.

“Pardoned, guv,” the young man returns, hurrying into the elevator. He slaps the keycard against the sensor, then presses the button for the garage.

Bloody Hanover seems to recognize his voice and pauses in the center of the hallway, slowly turning Eggsy’s way as the doors slide shut. As he disappears between steel, he is shouting his name—his Kingsman name—while the young man responds with a cheeky grin.

He realizes that he will be lucky if he makes more than three floors in either direction before someone throws the emergency stop lever. Eggsy stumbles out on the following floor, pediatrics it seems as he walks by rooms filled with sleeping children and their parents.

Definitely the _wrong_ place to have a shootout, though he wouldn’t put it past Kingsman.

Slipping into a darkened hospital room, Eggsy manages to grab a discarded jumper. Shoving the scalpel into the pocket of his borrowed scrubs, he pulls it over his head and settles it upon his upper body. The hood is perfect for concealing his face, especially in the chilly weather that London has been having.

“That’s my papa’s,” a small voice announces.

 _Shit,_ Eggsy thinks, turning towards the source and finding a little boy sitting up in bed, all wide eyed and alert. A complex cast, covered in doodles and well wishes, encases his arm.

He looks at the older man, completely unafraid in the way that young children are, and dances his stuffed animal across the covers. “He left it here by accident,” the boy tells him.

“Do you think he would mind if I borrowed it?” Eggsy asks, approaching the bed. He doesn’t have to force a friendly smile on his face; children have always delighted him with their wonder and awe of the world.

This little lad is no exception as he shrugs. “Dunno,” he replies. “Where’s your jumper?”

“Well, I left it at home.”

A disbelieving brow arches into the boy’s fringe. “Your mummy let you leave the house without your jumper?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy says, nodding. “Can you keep a secret?” The child smiles in answer, scooting closer to him. “My mum doesn’t know I left it. You promise not to tell her?”

The boy nods. “I promise!” he exclaims, holding his pinkie finger out. “Pinkie swear!”

Eggsy chuckles as he hooks fingers with the boy. “Okay then. What happened to your arm?”

“My papa and mummy and I were in a car accident,” he explains, proud of his injury. “My papa didn’t get hurt, but mum and I did. She’s downstairs, but papa is keeping her company tonight. I have Lewis with me, so it’s alright.” The boy waves his stuffed toy. “Papa brought him from home. He’s my favorite!”

Eggsy grins at the toy, a dog whose fur is worn down by being loved and carried everywhere. “I can see why,” he says. “Lovely lookin’ chap, your Lewis.”

“Do _you_ have a favorite toy?”

“I’m a little old for toys, you reckon?” Eggsy teases. “But I do have a medallion I always wear.”

The child tilts his head, curious. “Like what the Royals wear?”

“A bit,” he answers, tucking sheets and blankets around the boy. “Now you go back to sleep, yeah? And heal up so you and Lewis can go on many adventures.”

“Fine,” the boy huffs, laying his head against the pillow.

Eggsy cups his cheek, running his thumb over the baby soft skin, and murmurs a whispered goodnight before slipping back into the corridor. By some miracle, no one has found him—a good thing as he would hate to frighten the children.

He needs two things—a fire escape and a vehicle. Certainly the former before the latter as Eggsy needs to leave the hospital like ten minutes ago. These Kingsman vultures have probably been alerted by now and descending upon him while he’s trying to gather his bearings.

There are emergency exits, which Eggsy surmises are already being monitored, and plenty of windows. He’s high enough up that the sound of breaking glass won’t attract too much attention if he’s careful, though having to climb down is not the most ideal escape route.

Eggsy finds an empty office of one Dr. Teresa Draco, who will be plenty pissed off in the morning when she finds her leather desk chair thrown through the window. Locking the door and pulling a metal filing cabinet to block the entrance, Eggsy goes several paces to the large oak desk where the chair sits.

A cardigan is draped over the back and is quickly discarded onto the floor.

Harry’s face appears in the reflection of the window, the image ghostly and infuriating. That slow smile is tugging at his lips, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, as if he’s amused by Eggsy’s defiance.

_Manners. Maketh. Man._

“You can shove that up your arsehole,” he hisses, heaving the chair towards the window.

The glass shatters, scattering everywhere as wind blasts through the office. Eggsy leaps through the window frame, grabbing onto the side while calculating his descent.

One thing that Kingsman has helped him perfect is the ability to think on his feet. Before Eggsy would _react_ —his body and mind clashing in terms of what to do—but now he can view the circumstances and figure out a plan in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s a former gymnast.

He climbs down the building, scraping his knuckles and fingertips against the exterior of the hospital. It stings a bit and the cold isn’t helping matters, but Eggsy can’t complain. Fresh air fills his lungs, heightens his senses, and he’s _free_.

Letting go about five feet up, Eggsy drops onto the damp lawn and tumbles into some bushes just as security rushes by. He waits, holding his breath as they rush by and turn a corner.

“Stupid fucks,” the young man mutters as he rises to his full height. Taking a final look around him, Eggsy gives the hospital the bird, and then disappears into the night.

 

* * *

 

Cleaning up the living room is done in a loaded silence because there isn’t much to say.

And to be perfectly honest, Harry doesn’t put much faith in Merlin’s ability to control his anger, not that he blames him. His longtime friend has always been a hot head and given the current circumstances, the former Kingsman would rather not press his luck.

Plus, his jaw still aches something fierce and will more likely than not bruise by morning.

So Harry sweeps up broken glass and wooden splinters into a dustbin and dump them into the trash. He helps Merlin rearrange the furniture and place the books back on the shelves. They mop up the puddle of various alcohols and so on.

“Well, that seems to be the last of it,” Merlin announces, glancing around the room with a tired set of eyes. His stare lands on Harry and offers him a tight smile. “I reckon you may need to change; you smell like a drunkard who’s been thrown out of the pub.”

Harry scoffs at this. “That makes two of us, friend,” he fires back, trying not to chuckle. “Do you mind if I procure your second bathroom?”

“By all means,” Merlin says, gesturing towards said room. “I have some clothes you can borrow…”

The other man waves away the offer. “I placed my things in your guest room,” Harry tells him as he ventures to them.

“Well make yourself at home then!” his friend grumbles, followed by a not so quiet _cheeky bastard_.

He smiles at the slight, which is Merlin’s way of saying that Harry is _mostly_ forgiven, though he suspects they have a long way to go before the trust is repaired.

And there is the matter of Eggsy.

Merlin hasn’t told him exactly what the issue concerning the younger man was, as they were too busy fighting. Once they have both showered and changed, perhaps his friend will enlighten Harry.

As he steps into the bathroom with his necessities for grooming and dressing tucked under one arm, he knows that his friend wouldn’t sound such an alarm if something wasn’t the matter. Merlin knows that despite what transpired between Harry and Eggsy, that the former has always been fond of the lad.

Under the spray of hot water, he washes away the pungent smell of alcohol as well as the staleness of recycled air that lingers upon one’s skin after plane travel. He thinks of the time he and Eggsy showered together; how natural it felt to in such close proximity to slippery skin.

 _You reckon gentlemen do blowjobs in the bath?_ the younger man had inquired, his green—so impossibly green under the water—eyes glinting with mischief.

Harry watched him as he quickly sank to his knees. Perhaps, he recalls saying as Eggsy’s tongue darted across his lips. _If you were to ask politely._

There had been something feral about the smile on his lover’s mouth, so primal and lovely and heated. _Harry, may I?_ Eggsy questioned, causing the older man’s cock to twitch in wanting.

He’s not certain of his _exact_ reply, but it ended with him fucking the other man in the shower stall, arms and legs wrapped around him as they both moaned and cursed.

Harry blinks away the memory, for it does him no good now. He turns off the shower and goes about making himself presentable with the casual garments he brought back to London.

There’s no need for a bespoke suit and hasn’t been for quite some time. He finds it strange to look at his reflection in Merlin’s bathroom mirror for the lack of pressed fabric and starched shirts are mildly disturbing.

“This will do for now,” he says to himself and then exits the room.

He finds Merlin in the kitchen, boiling water for a pot of tea. “So, Greece,” his friend repeats, looking amused at the prospect of Harry Hart gallivanting around the Continent like a student during their gap year.

“I was in Nepal before,” he elaborates as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Something about trying to find my inner peace.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “How’d that work out for you, mate?”

“I’m back here, aren’t I?” Harry counters softly, smiling weakly. His comment is met by more silence on his friend’s part and the sound of the kettle blowing. Watching Merlin closely, he gathers a bit of courage to inquire about the young Kingsman. “What happened with Eggsy? All your message said was that he needed me.”

A cup of tea is set in front of him. “He’s been hospitalized,” Merlin says, taking a seat across the table.

“Hospitalized?” Harry gasps. “With what?”

His friend shrugs. “Xavier is uncertain of the cause, though it presents itself as a breakdown of sorts. A panel is being run and we should know more by the morning,” the other man replies. He takes a sip from his cup.

“Well, fuck,” he says, slouching in his chair. After a stunned moment, he meets Merlin’s eyes. “I certainly didn’t help matters.”

A shrug and a thinly veiled snicker follow. “No, _you_ certainly did not.”

Harry is about to retort when Merlin’s phone, hidden in the pocket of his slacks, goes off ‘God Save The Queen’. It’s in typical fashion of his friend—witty, yet sensible—and he finds himself unable to suppress his laughter as Merlin says, “How may I help you, Arthur?”

There is a pause in conversation, following a change in Merlin’s expression. It starts with his eyes turning dark, nearly black, and a frown deepening in his skin.

“He _what_?” the Kingsman croaks, panic washing over his face.

Harry finds his stomach knotting terribly and his heart coming to a stop. His mind goes to Eggsy and then the worst case scenario. “What is it?”

“Yes,” Merlin says. “He’s arrived. Yes, ma’am. We’ll be right there.” He ends the call with the swipe of a button and stands up. “Eggsy has escaped Kingsman custody.”

Well, shit if that isn’t one of the scenarios.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teresa Draco is a homage to Teresa "Tracy" Bond, James Bond's wife in _On Her Majesty's Secret Service_.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrive to complete and utter chaos on the Kingsman floor of King Edward.

No one seems to give Harry a second glance, which Merlin is thankful for as there are other more important matters at hand. He leads his friend towards Eggsy’s now unoccupied hospital room, noticing several droplets of blood on the floor as they draw closer.

“I feel like I’ve walked into complete madness,” Harry mutters, taking time to survey his surroundings.

Neither he nor Merlin are strangers to this ward, having been patients themselves at least several times for various injuries or surgeries. The last time either of them stepped foot inside the pristine corridors was nearly seven years ago when Harry had appendicitis.

“We are no longer in Kansas, Toto,” Merlin tells him in all seriousness.

Roxy comes out of Eggsy’s room, looking quite alarmed. After all, she is the young man’s best friend and adores him despite all the good-natured ribbing between them.

“Lancelot.” Merlin beckons, watching the stricken glint in her eyes become more focused as she turns towards his voice.

Then they darken to the equivalent of storm clouds. Roxy charges over, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line while her cheeks are flushed with rage. For the briefest of moments, Merlin prepares himself for her temper, only to be surprised by the quick brush of her body as she continues on…

…towards Harry.

An open-palmed slap ceases all activity in the general vicinity and multiple pairs of eyes fall upon her and the former Kingsman.

“You!” Roxy hisses, shaking. “You _bastard_!” Her fists thump Harry on the chest, pushing him back several stumbling steps. “How could _you_! After all you’ve put him through?” She hits him again and again, her yelling punctuating each movement. “You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach—leaving him in the dead of night! Making him promise not to tell! Percival, where’s my gun?”

Merlin grabs her from behind, pinning her arms to her side. He braces for Roxy’s squirming and curses, allowing it to continue on until she’s worn her anger out. “There will be no guns, Lancelot,” he states.

“Or hitting for that matter,” Harry adds, rubbing his abraded cheek, where now both Merlin and Roxy have managed to abuse.

He shoots his friend a death glare. “If I let you go, will you promise me that you _won’t_ shoot Mr. Hart until we’ve found Galahad?”

The young woman says nothing, though her body language reflects her desire to beat Harry to a pulp; she’s thrumming with it.

“Roxanne,” Merlin warns. He rarely uses her or Eggsy’s given names, usually referring to them by their Kingsman designation.

She huffs, rolling her eyes more likely than not, and nods so slightly that if he blinked, he’d miss it. “Fine,” she mumbles, as Merlin relaxes his hold.

“Good,” he sighs, finally releasing her. He rolls his shoulders, followed by his neck. “Very good. Now, where’s Arthur?”

Roxy motions them to follow, her glare deepening as Harry falls in line. “This way,” she tells them.

“What do we know so far?” Merlin inquires as they push their way through a throng of agents.

“Galahad left the facility on his own around half eight this evening,” Roxy explains. “We have one nurse dead—electrocution from a defibrillator—and a broken window located on the Pediatrics floor. Security cameras show that he climbed down and left on foot. Dr. Hanover called it in after bumping into Galahad on his way from the lifts. He was wearing the nurse’s uniform, though footage shows that he acquired a jumper.”

Both Merlin and Harry see the sheet covering the dead body lying in Eggsy’s room. The defibrillator paddle hangs like a rope in the gallows, swaying ominously.

“Bloody hell,” Merlin whispers, blinking at the sheet. He notices droplets of blood on the tiled floor, dried up and so dark that they’re nearly black. Squatting down, he runs his finger against one. “Galahad or this chap’s?”

Roxy gestures towards the discard IV line. “Galahad’s,” she answers. “He removed himself from the medical equipment—Foley included—before the nurse came in. I suspect he was able to take him by surprise since no one heard a thing.”

“What about his tracker?” Merlin asks.

“He disabled it,” Arthur says as she enters the room. She _tsks_ at the scene before her, sighing heavily while walking over to them. “I suspect he used a low voltage from the defibrillator to shock it offline. Quite brilliant, actually.”

Harry makes a pleased sound, clearly proud of his protégé, earning Arthur’s attention. Her pale blue eyes fall upon him, the irises turning to steel as her expression hardens at his reappearance.

“Mr. Hart,” Arthur greets coolly. “I see you received Merlin’s message.”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good of you to join us,” she says before looking at Roxy and Merlin. “Where is Xavier?”

Roxy clears her throat. “Dr. Hanover is putting a rush on Galahad’s panels,” she explains. “To determine if there is a medical cause for all this.”

“Isn’t that splendid,” Arthur murmurs. “How many other casualties are there?”

“Just the one, it seems,” Merlin replies. “I am already monitoring the police channels for any incidents with a person fitting Galahad’s description.”

Arthur folds her arms over her chest and begins to pace the room, filling its walls with the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. “Where on Earth would he go? Certainly not a safe house or a place that would force him to present identification.”

“He would go home.”

Everyone turns to Harry, who takes their stares with a measure of composure. Merlin knows that his friend realizes the current attitude towards his person and wants to tread carefully.

But it’s Eggsy they’re speaking of, and from what Merlin has seen, Harry cares about him.

“Home?” Roxy questions dubiously.

Harry nods. “Yes. Home.”

 

* * *

 

Eggsy watches his mum, sister, and dog from afar, hidden by the shadows of night.

Daisy’s shrill laughter resonates in the air as JB licks her face, her arms waving in delight. His mum smiles and kneels down to tell her daughter something while fastening her jacket. The pug patiently waits until his humans signal their departure for his nightly walk.

The amount of ease that settles in his mum’s bones astounds Eggsy. It’s been nearly two years since he ushered her out of the pub to gather Daisy and their belongings into their new home. Michelle Unwin is a completely different person and it shows as she points out flowers to her baby girl.

He can only pick up every other word or so, though the sound of her voice is evident from Eggsy’s hiding place.

Daisy squeals, announcing that JB is going to the bathroom. The pug, god bless him, casts her a solemn stare and then goes back to the business of taking a piss in the neighbor’s driveway.

They appear happy and carefree, unaware of the chaotic storm that stands at a distance. Eggsy has been meticulous in keeping it at bay, not wanting to disrupt their lives with his nonsense.

Perhaps he’s a bit overprotective, but his mum and sister deserve a quiet life, a good life. One where they are safe and never know fear like before.

He thinks of his father and how daily life in the Unwin household was before he died. Eggsy recalls the laughter and the sound of his mum singing as she cooked or folded laundry. If his father was home, he would join her and make up lyrics for the song he didn’t know.

His mum would giggle and wrap her arms around his waist, the two of them so in love and content with each other’s company. When they noticed Eggsy spying on them, his father would motion him over.

 _Come on, our little Easter egg,_ he said, hoisting him up between them. _Our little family._

A car pulls onto their street and drives up to the end of the Unwin’s driveway. His mum notices this rather quickly and says something to Daisy, whom she scoops up into her arms.

Roxy exits the passenger side, waving and beckoning his mum, who relaxes at the familiar face. His mum adores the posh and polished Roxanne Morton, mentioning more than once about what a good influence the young lady is on her eldest child.

They converse as the other doors open and two men get out. One of them is Merlin, his bald head shining from the street lamps, and the other never turns around.

There is something about him that brings a familiar sting to the surface—something in his manner and way of walking. A certain air that Eggsy cannot place.

Merlin begins speaking to his mother now, gesturing towards the cab. She turns to Roxy, who nods in assurance, and follows them to the vehicle, where the other man opens the door for her. Michelle and Daisy disappear into the back seat, their bodies silhouetted by the street lamps.

Roxy has JB and coos to him as she gets into the car, while Merlin lingers. He is searching the street for something—Eggsy more likely than not—and finally follows the rest of them, closing the driver's’ side door in his wake.

The cab drives off into the night, rapidly putting distance between him and his family as Eggsy tracks their retreat.

He lingers in his hiding place, waiting for Kingsman agents to descend upon him in their usual wont. Someone makes a call and they storm in like the cavalry, guns blazing and gadgets in their carefully tailored suits.

Except Eggsy finds himself to be truly alone, wearing a dead man’s hospital scrubs and another man’s jumper, stained with dried blood causing the fabric to stick to his arm.

He estimates he can get a quick shower and grab a few necessities before Merlin makes the call. Eggsy reckons that his colleague will explain the situation to his mum, who will be less than pleased that her son is a professional hit man.

Though it would explain a lot—his infrequent absences, his injuries, the odd hour phone calls.

Eggsy darts across the street and jumps the garden fence to retrieve the spare key. He enters his home under the concealment of the night and closes the patio door behind him.

The familiar sights and smells of the house give Eggsy with a fleeting sense of regret. _No,_ he thinks to himself as he wanders to his bedroom. _You need to go and end this, for their safety._

Finding a change of clothes—something that will allow Eggsy to blend into a crowd—and showering are mundane tasks that need no further elaboration.

As he towels off his hair, he wanders to the bathroom mirror and wipes the steam from the glass. The reflection staring back at him reminds Eggsy of the boy he once was—the one with the weight of the world on his shoulders and a medallion that hung from his neck. The lad with stubble upon his face and a frown.

 _I see a young man with potential,_ Harry voice’s whispers inside his mind. _A young man who is loyal. Who can do as he is asked, and who wants to do something good with his life?_

He glares at his reflection as if Harry is standing behind him, wearing his fancy suit and tie. Eggsy turns to the discarded hospital clothes on the floor and bends down to rifle through the pockets for the scalpel. The dull edge brushes against his fingers, bringing a grin to his face as he pulls it out to examine.

Eggsy glances down at his arm, the one with the defibrillator burn, and swallows. The reddened skin, despite all appearances, is delicate under blades—he would know, being a Kingsman agent—and will part with a quick flick of his wrist.

He presses the scalpel to his arm, right above the area where the deactivated tracker lies. “If you’ve taught me anythin’,” Eggsy says, thinking of Kingsman. “It’s every man for himself.”

He makes the first cut.

 

* * *

 

“Will someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on?” Michelle Unwin demands from the back seat.

Her daughter’s attention shifts from the set of house keys Harry snatched from Merlin’s pocket to the people in the cab. “Bloody ‘ell!” she parrots, grinning.

“Daisy,” Michelle sighs, shaking her head. “Mummy said a bad word and good girls shouldn’t do that.”

The little girl giggles and buries her face in her mother’s hair. “Bloody ‘ell!” Daisy chirps, much to Michelle’s chagrin.

“Perhaps we should discuss the current situation once there aren’t little ears about,” Merlin suggests as he continues driving.

Michelle arches her brow, currently not in agreement. “No, we discuss the _current situation_ now!” she says, angrily.

“It has to do with Eggsy, Ms. Unwin,” Roxy says, trying to defuse the situation. She turns in her seat and shrugs. “It has to do with all of us, really.”

The older woman pales. “What happened to Eggsy?” she questions. “Is he alright?”

“As far as we know he is,” Merlin answers.

Michelle shakes her head as if she’s misheard him. “Excuse me, but _as far as you know_? What do you mean you don’t know?” she counters at rapid fire. “How do you not know? He’s at the hospital…”

Roxy shakes her head. “Not exactly,” she tells Eggsy’s mother.

“Perhaps we should start from the beginning,” Harry casually interjects.

“Perhaps you should shut your damn mouth!” Roxy uncharacteristically snaps.

Merlin reaches out and lays a hand on her arm, which JB ends up licking. “I think we should all keep calm,” he tells the lot of them. “And start from the beginning, I suppose.”

“Though not at the very beginning because I am certain we don’t have time for that,” Harry adds.

He glances at his friend in the rearview mirror, rolling his eyes. “Yes, thank you for that, Harry,” Merlin groans. “I appreciate you telling me how to divulge pertinent information. I’ve only done it for just as long as you, even longer if you count your _unexpected_ vacation.”

“It was a _retirement_ , Hamish,” Harry hisses, turning to look at the window. “Must I tell you again?”

Merlin grips the steering wheel tightly. “You will anyway because you enjoy hearing yourself speak,” he mutters.

“I heard that,” the other man bitterly counters.

“Good,” Roxy says as she repositions JB on her lap. “You should know what an arsehole we think you are.” She tilts her head in Daisy’s direction. “That’s also a bad word, petal.”

Michelle seems confused by the tension in the cab, even more so by the gentleman sitting next to her and her daughter. She studies him, trying to place Harry’s face. “Excuse me, but have we met?” she asks.

“A long time ago,” he replies without missing a beat. “I knew your husband, Lee. And your son.”

“You ought to just tell her the whole bloody story,” Roxy grumbles.

Ms. Unwin lets out a frustrated sound. “What story?” she demands. “What in God’s name is going on? And where is Eggsy?”

“Jesus,” Merlin grunts as they pull into the driveway of Kingsman Headquarters. He puts the cab in park as Arthur descends the front steps and glares at both Roxy and Harry. “Neither of you can keep your traps shut! And now I have to be the bad guy!”

He gets out of the car and stomps around the other side, where he helps Michelle with Daisy. “If you must know, Ms. Unwin,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Eggsy is no more a tailor than I am the Queen of England.”

“What?” Michelle gasps. “What are you talking about, Hamish?”

Merlin sighs, rubbing his temples. “We’re all spies here,” he tells her.

The sting of her hand causes him to stumble backward.

 

* * *

 

“ _Spies_?” Michelle shouts in the conference room.

Merlin is nursing his jaw, which has been reddened by Ms. Unwin’s hand. It still smarts, unsurprising from the sheer force behind it. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, toeing the line very carefully. “Spies.”

Somehow, he truly thought that explaining the nature of their work— their _true_ work—would go over a whole lot better in his head. Michelle Unwin, despite a rough past, seemed like a woman who could handle less than ordinary news.

“Why on Earth would you recruit my son?” she yells, pacing back and forth. “He’s only a boy!”

Harry is pouring himself a glass of brandy when he makes a noise of disagreement. “Eggsy is actually a young man,” he says over his shoulder. “I believe he just turned twenty-six this past April.”

Everyone in the room, including JB, turns to him, something that does not go unnoticed by the former Kingsman agent.

“If we’re discussing semantics,” Harry mumbles into his glass.

Merlin tosses a pen in his direction. “Shut. Up!”

“Your son’s aptitude scores were quite impressive, Ms. Unwin,” Arthur tells her, trying to level with Michelle as they are both mothers. “It would be a crime not to have allowed him to join our training, given that he’s Lee’s son.”

Michelle chokes on salvia and grabs hold of a chair. “Lee?” she croaks, tears brightening her eyes. “Lee…was one of you?”

“Yes, he was,” Arthur answers gently. “He died during one of our training exercises and his loss is still felt within the organization.”

“So you recruited my son?” Michelle cries, slamming her fists on the table. “You couldn’t have Lee, so you took my Eggsy! What nerve you lot have!”

Harry clears his throat. “Your son was given a choice, Ms. Unwin,” he states. “He wasn’t taken or coerced into joining our—” Roxy chokes out something that sounds eerily similar to _liar_ “—the _Kingsman_ ranks. Happy now, Ms. Morton?”

She smiles sweetly as her fingers scratch behind JB’s ears. “Extremely,” she tells him, over-pronouncing her reply with a bit of smugness.

“And you,” Michelle snaps, turning her wrath to Roxy. “You’re one of them too? A spy.” The latter comes out as a plea.

Roxy turns serious and nods after a moment. “I met Eggsy during recruitment,” she answers over the sound of Michelle’s sharp inhale.

“And now he’s missing,” his mother sobs, having to sit down. Tears run down her face, staining her flushed cheeks. “Did someone take him? Why is he gone? What have you done with _my son_!”

The agents and Harry exchange uncomfortable glances, wondering who will be the first to speak up. They can’t tell her everything. It is certain that while Michelle is not a Kingsman, she would probably throttle Harry if she knew what had transpired between him and her son.

Hell, Merlin still wants to strangle him.

“It seems that Eggsy left the hospital on his own accord,” Arthur begins to explain. “We have brought you and your daughter to Kingsman headquarters as your son’s current mental state is unknown. He hasn’t been himself as of late.” She is careful to leave out the dead body left in the wake of Eggsy’s escape since no good will come of telling Ms. Unwin.

Merlin remains in his seat as Harry walks over to Michelle, handing her a napkin. “It seems that I have left my handkerchiefs elsewhere,” he tells her with a comforting smile. “I hope that this will do.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, though her gratefulness is very apparent. She dabs her eyes in a demure fashion and takes a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. “I am aware that he hasn’t been well,” Michelle tells them. “Eggsy used to have night terrors when he was a boy…after Lee…”

It is hard to picture his colleague as a little boy, let alone grieving the loss of his father. Eggsy has been one to keep his emotions close to himself, though Merlin suspects that he and Roxy had their fair share of heart-to-hearts.

He looks to Harry, who seems quite disturbed by this bit of news. Merlin recalls that his friend had insisted on being the one to deliver the news of Lee’s death and had come back very perturbed if memory serves correctly.

“They stopped after a while,” Michelle states as her manicured fingers tear the napkin to bits.

The sentence comes out like a confession as Ms. Unwin seems to have a measure of guilt from being unable to protect her little boy.

Guilt that Harry shares, judging by the pale look of him.

“Given the aftermath of V-Day and the work that your son engages in, it is not surprising that he is experiencing night terrors,” Arthur tells her, receiving a pair of astonished eyes growing wider at what she has said. “Your son saved the world, Ms. Unwin. You should be very proud.”

Michelle nods, the action slow and deliberate. “Is that how he’s been able to afford our house?” she asks aloud, tapping her nail against the surface of the table. “The maid that comes once a week and Daisy’s preschool— it’s because of…” She gestures to everyone and the room “…all this.”

“Yes,” Arthur says. “Becoming a Kingsman has its rewards and its trials.”

“Why on earth would Eggsy do such a thing?”

“He wanted you and Daisy to have a better life,” Roxy intones. “A good life.”

Ms. Unwin shakes her head. “It’s not his responsibility.”

“I believe your son would disagree with you,” Harry interjects. “Eggsy is quite headstrong in that sense.”

Roxy frowns. “You haven’t seen him in over a year and a half,” she spits out, turning her seat towards the former Kingsman. “And _you_ left _him_.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry replies in an infuriatingly calm manner. “It’s a decision I have come to regret.”

“Only because you got found out,” Roxy snaps, looking away from him. She is pouting, her fingers scratching JB’s happy spot, and resembling a young girl who’s about to have a tantrum. “Bastard.”

Merlin squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough of this fighting!” he begs, opening his eyes. “Eggsy is missing and we need to figure out his next move before he does something stupid. We’re dispatching a team to the Unwin residence; Michelle—is there anywhere else he would go?”

His mother chews her lip, thinking about her son’s habits. Merlin has to admit, he’s impressed with the measure of composure that she’s maintained after finding out that her son is a super spy. Perhaps later, once Eggsy has been found and remanded back to Kingsman custody, she will go around the twist, but for now, she’s fine.

“He used to go meet Ryan and Jamal at the Black Prince for a pint or two,” Michelle replies. “And the park down the street from our house, it has a track that Eggsy likes to run. Says it clears his head.”

Merlin begins writing this down on his iPad, sending out each location to a team of agents. “Anywhere else?” he asks after a while.

“Roxy’s flat,” Michelle says, glancing apologetically in the young woman’s direction. “And that chip place around the corner from you. He likes to bring leftovers for JB, even though I tell Eggsy not to. Pugs shouldn’t weigh more than a stone.”

JB lifts his head at the mention of his name and yawns, bored with the activity around him.

“This is very good intel,” Merlin assures Ms. Unwin. “Roxy, you and Gawain will take point on the team going to the Unwin house. We’ll send Kay to your flat if you don’t mind.”

She shrugs. “Delilah knows her, it should be fine,” she tells him as she stands up. Roxy nuzzles JB and presses a peck to his tawny head. “Perhaps you’d like to go see your Daisy, huh, pup?”

The pug whines in agreement and is willingly placed in Michelle’s arms.

“Allow me to escort you to the suite we prepared for you and your family,” Arthur says as she smooths the wrinkles from her skirt. She places a gentle hand on Mrs. Unwin’s shoulder, leading her out of the room while they chat quietly.

Merlin huffs a tired sigh. “Well…that seemed to go over better than I expected,” he tells Harry and Roxy just as his iPad begins to beep.

“I suspect we can thank Eggsy’s rebellious streak for Ms. Unwin’s grace under fire,” his friend comments, taking a sip from his glass.

Roxy sneers at him. “What do you know about his rebellious streak, hmm?”

To his credit, Harry does not reply, or at least Merlin thinks he doesn’t. He is a bit too busy with the tracker application on his device to pay much mind to either of them. What he finds nearly makes him choke on his breath.

“What?” Roxy asks, worriedly. “What is it?”

Merlin rises to his feet, swaying slightly. “Eggsy’s tracker has been activated,” he replies. “From his home address.”

“I’ll grab Gawain and head over—”

“Then I’m coming as well.”

Merlin and Roxy turn to Harry, both of them shouting, “No!” He nods to Roxy, who leaves the room without a word, and sighs. “You and I both know that you can’t go with her,” he says, watching Harry sink into a chair. “You’re no longer an agent.”

“But this is my doing,” Harry counters.

“Not entirely,” Merlin assures. “You may shadow me, but you cannot engage in fieldwork, Harry. Arthur won’t allow it and we are both aware of how Jenny can get.”

The former Kingsman nods; looking thoroughly miserable and heartsick at the turn of events. “This cannot be Eggsy’s doing; not his alone,” Harry whispers. “Perhaps there is something we’re missing.”

“Right,” he says, remembering that Dr. Hanover is tucked away in his laboratory. “Come with me; it’s time to go see Xavier.”

 

* * *

 

It’s strange to be arriving back at the Unwin’s home without any of the family members inside.

Roxy has been within the house’s walls more than she reckons, finding herself immersed in the family’s daily life and welcomed into the fold with open arms. If she closes her eyes, she can picture each detail of the inside from the pale yellow walls to the spot on the rug in Daisy’s bedroom from where she smashed a strawberry into the fiber.

She can tell a person where the flatware is located—every day in the kitchen cabinets and the antique Waterford in the living room—and that JB hides his chew toys behind the Eggsy’s nightstand.

To be approaching the house in the dead of night with her gun drawn and the safety off is never a scene Roxy pictured. When she met Eggsy, she sized up her competition and thought he’d wash out rather quickly.

He proved her wrong, of course, just how he proved everyone (but Harry, much to her chagrin) wrong. Soon Eggsy became her colleague, her confidant, and her best friend.

“Lancelot,” Gawain whispers as he comes up alongside her. “You take point since you know the premises better than I, yeah?”

Roxy nods in agreement. “Kay, have your team come to the front,” she orders over the radio located in her glasses. “Gawain, Caradoc, Erec, and I will take the back end.”

“Roger that, Lancelot,” Kay acknowledges over the radio.

She shrugs at Gawain. “Let’s go.”

They file through the back door of the Unwin residence and find themselves in the kitchen. The lights are still on inside the house; Michelle had left them on for when she, Daisy, and JB came back from their evening walk.

“Front’s clear,” Kay states.

Roxy glances at her team, motioning her head for them to proceed. She and Gawain go up the staircase, heading towards Eggsy’s bedroom.

“Master bedroom is clear,” Erec says, followed by Caradoc’s voice stating that Daisy’s room is empty.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Roxy nudges her friend’s door open only to find nothing. “I’m going to check the bathroom,” she tells Gawain, who radios the team with Eggsy’s bedroom status.

Her destination is located down the hallway, where a light stream from the ajar door. Roxy holds her gun out at the ready, half expecting her friend to jump out, mad as a rabid animal and frothing at the mouth. She yearns to call his name and for his shout of “Oi, oi” to greet her.

Roxy reaches out for the knob and gives it a pull, watching as the door slowly opens. “Bloody hell!” she gasps, taking in the gruesome sight before her.

“What is it?” Gawain bellows as he charges up behind her, stopping short with a strangled cry. “Is that blood?” he questions once he’s able to speak.

Roxy nods, gobsmacked. “Eggsy’s blood,” she whispers as she rereads the message painted onto the bathroom mirror:

_Liars next._


	4. Chapter 4

“He _had to_ drop it in the toilet, cheeky bugger,” Merlin gripes as he examines the waterlogged, yet still functioning device with a pair of tweezers.

Harry and Roxy exchange side-long glances. “Perhaps he was being ironic, Hamish,” the former suggests, earning a snort of laughter from the latter.

“It’s not bloody funny, you lot!” the handler snaps, looking at them both through a magnifying glass. Harry can see each detail of his friend’s dark brown irises. “Do you know _how_ expensive these are? And how long it took me to get it work? Bastards, you both are!”

The former agent rolls his eyes. “Don’t mind him, Ms. Morton,” Harry begins to explain. “Merlin tends to take it very personally when his inventions are mistreated.”

“It’s _my_ job to take it personally, you twat!” Merlin grumbles, continuing to mutter under his breath as he takes the tracker apart.

Out of the corner of his good eye, Harry notices that despite Roxy’s earlier bit of laughter, she still appears stricken by the turn of events. He’s well aware that she is Eggsy’s best friend, something that the young man told between bites of pizza in the nude.

 _She’s aces, that girl is!_  Eggsy told him, completely unaware of the marinara sauce smudged on his cheek. _Don’t know what I’d do without her._

It is clear to him that Roxy feels the same way about their mutual loved one, hence her current disdain for Harry and earlier display of physical violence. Even he knows he deserved much worse from the young lady, but Ms. Morton has always been the cool and collected sort.

“There you are!” Dr. Hanover exclaims from the door, pausing to blink rapidly at his former colleague before coming in. “Harry, good to see you.”

Harry nods. “Likewise, Xavier,” he replies, extending his hand. They shake, the doctor clapping him warmly on the shoulder.

“Are Galahad’s panel results back?” Merlin interrupts, shooting both men a glare.

Hanover nods, waving the tablet in his hand. “Ah yes,” he says, going to the organized chaos that is Merlin’s desk. He plugs a chip into the device and soon its contents are on the large screen in front of them. “I ran them against Galahad’s panels taken upon his return versus the latest blood draw at King Edward. Tell me what you see.”

A chair skids across the floor and Merlin is flanking his left while Roxy stands at his right. The screen shows a series of charts and numbers, each the polar opposite of the other.

“It’s like looking at two different results,” Merlin replies, mystified.

“I don’t understand what we’re looking at,” Roxy admits, turning to Hanover.

He points to the results on the left. “Those are the blood markers of a normal, healthy twenty-six-year-old male, Lancelot,” the doctor explains. “His levels are where they should be and if I wasn’t intimately knowledgeable of Galahad’s medical history, I’d say that this young man is in excellent physical health.” He turns to Roxy with a knowing grin. “You and I both know what trouble he gets himself into.”

Roxy’s lips twitch at this.

“Now, the right panel shows the same individual, except...” Hanover takes out a pen and presses it to the tablet screen, drawing a circle. “The protein markers reflect those of a person who has suffered a stroke.”

Merlin snatches the tablet over the doctor’s protests. “A stroke?” he gasps, his grip loosening enough for Harry to take the device from him, an action that earns a frown. “Oi!”

“You can have it back in a moment,” Harry mutters, his focus on the tablet. He reads through the data, each piece just as confounding as the next. “Was there anything to indicate that he stroked out, Xavier?”

Hanover shakes his head. “That’s the problem,” he replies, scratching his scalp. “None of the other medical equipment detected it; an anxiety attack, yes. Not a stroke. There would have been physical symptoms - weakness or numb of the face or one side of his body, loss of vision, speech…a severe headache, even. The last time I saw Galahad prior to his escape, he had full control of his body and speech.”

“When was that?” Harry inquires, innocently.

“We had to keep him sedated,” the doctor explains. “Galahad became hysterical when he initially woke up in the hospital and given the circumstances, Arthur and I thought it would be best if he was kept under for a while.”

Harry nods, disturbed by the news. When he had found Eggsy on the verge of collapse in Russia, it had been difficult. Even as he nursed the young man back to health, he fretted.

Just seeing him in such a state…it’s safe to reason that Harry lost sleep over it.

“What do you think is the cause of all this?” Roxy asks, breaking the silence.

Hanover takes the tablet back from Harry and clicks to another screen. “I don’t have the same level of access as active Kingsman agents, but even I heard the whispers of the nerve agent that JACKAL was developing. That was Galahad’s last mission, was it not, Merlin?”

“We received intel from a former JACKAL associate that they had almost perfected it in their Russian laboratory,” he states. “Galahad’s mission was to destroy the labs without releasing the agent, which he successfully completed, but with unforeseen consequences.”

Harry feels Merlin’s eyes on him, burning with more unsaid accusations. He glances back at his friend with a frown. “Would you have preferred me to leave him to die, Hamish?”

“I would have preferred if _both_ of _you_ kept it in your trousers,” Merlin snaps, rolling his dark eyes.

He goes to retort when Roxy raises her hands, irritated. “Arguing isn’t going to help the situation,” she warns.

“Lancelot is correct,” Hanover agrees calmly. “I dug through our databases about the nerve agent and found a trial from 2012. A member of JACKAL walked into a bar in Liechtenstein and shot up the whole place before turning the gun on herself. During the autopsy, the coroner noticed the elevated level of protein in her system.” He sets down the tablet to remove his glasses, which he cleans on the lapel of his medical coat. “Similar to those of Galahad’s.”

A strangled sound comes out of Merlin’s throat. “So you believe that Galahad was somehow exposed to it?”

“It’s not a theory,” the doctor tells them. “Galahad has been exposed to the nerve agent. It’s a matter of trying to figure out how it activated, as I’m estimating that it’s been in his system for nearly three weeks.”

“Stress?” Roxy suggests, casting a not-so-repentant guise in Harry’s direction. “Perhaps the anxiety of Galahad’s reunion with Mr. Hart, followed by having to keep it secret caused a chemical reaction.”

Hanover smiles gleefully. “That is precisely what I was thinking, Lancelot! Stress is only one factor in the reaction; Galahad’s levels would have to reach a certain apex before the agent went live, so to speak.”

“It must have gone live within the last ten hours,” Harry comments. “Possibly less.”

Roxy tilts her head. “Perhaps during the last time you saw him, Dr. Hanover?”

“Quite possible,” the doctor says. “Regardless, we need to get Galahad back into Kingsman custody and remove the agent from his system before it can cause damage.”

Merlin palms his face and removes his glasses. He sets them on the desk and leans against the surface. “Perhaps we should bargain with JACKAL.”

“Vesper Delacroix always liked a good bargain,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. “And an ironic twist.”

“Who is she?” asks Roxy.

The elder Kingsman pushes himself upright. “She is the head of JACKAL and a _very_ dangerous woman to cross,” Merlin replies. “I have no doubt that she exposed Galahad to the agent on purpose so we would have to make a deal with her.”

“A deal?” Roxy exclaims. “She’s a criminal!”

Harry and Merlin look at each other, both of them knowing that what Roxy says is true. “She may be a criminal, but now she’s in danger,” the former states. “I bet you anything that Eggsy is going to attempt to finish what he started in Russia.”

 

* * *

 

The medallion—the one that Harry gifted him all those years ago—hangs from his neck like a pendulum.

Eggsy doesn’t know why he pocketed it when he rushed through his bedroom for the necessities, but suddenly the object was tucked into the collar of his t-shirt, disappearing under black fabric. He didn’t spare a moment to think about it as he quickly went to find the cigar box under his bed, where he kept extra money and several passports with fake identities.

He’s no Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer, or James Bond by any stretch, but if Eggsy’s learned one thing from spy films, it’s to always be prepared.

And to blend in with the crowd, even if that means leaving behind his beloved trainers with wings. No, Eggsy has to stay under the radar until he’s out of England and probably even after.

Well…after none of this will matter much.

Eggsy shifts the weight of his backpack, a compact thing comprised of grey nylon, as he enters the stairs for Waterloo Station. He has to mind the other patrons and do nothing to draw attention to him.

Besides, the tube station serves nearly one hundred million per annum - he’s just one of many blokes purchasing a ticket to the Continent.

He finds his way to the Eurostar queue, waiting patiently as the line moves at a snail’s pace. Every so often, Eggsy observes his surroundings and wonders when he’ll see a familiar face.

Kingsman — or all of Eggsy’s dislike of them— - is not stupid and they’ll figure out where he’s headed eventually. It’s just a matter of when.

With the removal of his tracker, he’s able to put at least several hours between them and his current person. They wouldn’t dare put out a police blotter on him - only if they got desperate.

“Next!” the Eurostar clerk bellows over the bustle of the station.

Eggsy steps forward. “Ticket for the eight o’clock to Paris,” he says in an American accent, slipping his passport under the partition. “One way.”

“That’ll be three hundred pounds,” the clerk tells him after examining the passport and passing it back to him.

He pays in cash; that’s what all of the spies do. It’s untraceable and if Kingsman ever figures out where he is, this clerk will remember an American bloke with crumpled notes.

With his ticket clutched in his hand, Eggsy heads in the direction of the Eurostar terminal. He doesn’t have a lot of time to kill and would prefer to board sooner than later.

The faster he’s departed London, the better he’ll feel.

He’s so caught up in his own head and routing his next move that he fails to notice Percival following him. It takes several turns for the sinking sensation to alert him, but with a quick glance out his peripheral, Eggsy catches his colleague trotting several paces behind him in a grey Merino suit.

 _Fuck_ , he curses to himself, keeping his pace sedate like before. Eggsy spies the Kingsman’s hand touching the side of his glasses, clearly going to alert the rest of them of his location.

Thinking fast he turns suddenly, bodily knocking in the older man and sending his glasses onto Waterloo’s floor. Eggsy pretends to trip over himself and deliberately steps on the thick framed specs, satisfied at the cracking glass. “Oh,” he stammers as other people notice the collision. “So sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going!”

He flashes Percival a knowing sneer, a silent taunt to goad him into action. Eggsy notices him going for his watch, no doubt trying to use one of those sedation darts on him.

Knocking the Kingsman to the ground, Eggsy takes off into the crowd. He maneuvers his way through the station, ducking into a shop to evade Percival. He makes his way towards the back just as the agent follows him and pulls open a door that states Employees Only in black lettering.

He finds himself in a long corridor with multiple doors leading to other vendors. Eggsy glances around, his eyes settling upon a broom, which he grabs and shoves through the door handle.

Rushing off, he finds another shop and surprises several teens who are fucking around in the stock room. Shrugging, Eggsy hurries to the front and exits back into the main station.

He runs, not unusual as it is a tube station, ignoring his body’s aches and pains. He comes upon the Eurostar terminal, whose line is mercifully short, and gets in the queue.

Eggsy glances over his shoulder, watching out for Percival even as he hands over his ticket and passport to the station employee. Lady Luck seems to be on his side for the time being and he manages to make it into the terminal just as the Kingsman agent’s face appears in the crowd.

God bless Percival, who appears enraged and red in the face, as he’s stopped by a station employee to attempting to enter the Eurostar terminal without a ticket. Smiling, Eggsy gives him a two finger salute before heading to the trains.

 _You’ve lost your touch, guv,_ he snickers a few minutes later as the train pulls out of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vesper Delacroix is a homage to Vesper Lynd (played by Eva Green in _Casino Royale_ ) and Monique Delacroix (James Bond's mother).


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s already disappeared,” Merlin states, resigned, as he looks upon the security footage from Waterloo Station.

In a grainy image is Eggsy, making his way through the crowd and promptly vanishing from view. Another camera picks him up from a different angle as he looks over his shoulder and suddenly he’s darting off, heading into a shop.

Percival appears on screen, rushing after the young man, and their short chase is filmed until Eggsy reaches the Eurostar terminal. A station employee stops Percival, who insists on being let through despite not having a ticket. The fury is evident in his expression and actions as he continues to try pass, gesturing wildly at where Eggsy once stood.

Two security guards come over and arrest him, escorting him to a section of the station where there are no cameras.

“Nearly three hours lost,” Percival grumbles, looking ashamed at himself. “Because I couldn’t keep my temper in check. I apologize for my rudeness.”

Arthur shakes her head. “There is no need for that,” she insists, her eyes on the screen. “You acted in a fashion that any Kingsman would have. Now we just need to figure out where Galahad’s gone.”

“He won’t stay in Paris,” Harry says, not bothering to look up from a borrowed iPad. He is reading Eggsy’s mission dossier in an effort to be brought up to speed.

Merlin agrees with this. “But he will stick to major cities, ones that are tourist epicenters and have easy access to air and train travel.”

“Or by water,” Roxy interjects. She stands next to Merlin, staring at the screen. “Did you get any hits on his passport?”

“Not exactly,” Merlin huffs, picking up his iPad and passing it to the young woman. “It seems that Galahad may be equipped with an arsenal of false identities. He exited England using one for a Derek Flint, cheeky little shit.”

Roxy smirks. “An American one,” she adds. “I suspect if he’s already left France, it’s on another passport.”

“It doesn’t matter now; Galahad is three hours ahead of our agents and his current location is unknown.” Arthur states. “Have our other branches been alerted?”

Merlin looks at her from over his shoulder, nodding. “Of course they have,” he says. “This is a serious breach in our ranks.”

“Serious enough to enact the Mordred Protocol, I reckon,” Percival comments.

Harry shakes his head. “No,” he snaps, setting the iPad down. “We’re not there yet.”

“We?” the Kingsman agent stammers. “No offense, Harry, but you are a _civilian_! I am quite overjoyed that you are alive, but you are no longer a Kingsman agent. In fact, you even being here is endangering all of us!”

Merlin watches as Harry runs his fingers through his hair, recognizing that anxious look on his face as he paces the room. “Eggsy is my protégé,” his friend replies. “Therefore my responsibility, and I failed him. I abused his loyalty towards me and his trust…I _need_ to fix this. I need to show him…”

Harry goes quiet. His eyes are glassy, either from grief or fatigue, Merlin doesn’t know, and his shoulders are slumped in defeat.

“I need to bring him back,” his friend finally finishes, his words coming out in a whisper.

A plea of sorts.

Merlin’s eyes shift to Arthur, stone-faced and serious as usual. She looks upon Harry with a measure of understanding of his plight and as an old colleague.

She had been their taskmaster during his and Harry’s recruitment and their friend once they joined the Kingsman ranks. Lethal yet kind, Jenny’s door was always open to them, and it extended to her personal life. Both Merlin and Harry had been guests at the summer cottage she and her husband owned. They knew her children and grandchildren.

“I will reinstate you on one condition,” Arthur tells him, much to everyone’s surprise. “You will not fuck off to God knows where, and you will rejoin our ranks once you are fit for active duty. If Xavier determines that you are no longer fit to do so, you will be reassigned to headquarters.” Harry goes to say something, but Arthur cuts him off with a glare. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Explicably,” he answers.

Arthur looks him up and down before nodding in satisfaction. “Very well,” she says, extending her hand for him to shake. “We are pleased to have you back, Mr. Hart.”

“I am pleased to be back,” Harry says, giving her a firm handshake. “I suspect that my code name will be granted at a later date.”

“Your suspicions are correct,” she replies. Her lips curl into a secretive smile, not unlike the Mona Lisa. “For now you will go by your given name, though we will issue you the standard Kingsman field instruments. You may speak to Merlin after we’ve adjourned.”

They continue conversing about possible locations of where Eggsy would go, as well as modes of transportation. It’s a strange debate, speaking of one of their own as a mark, but then again—he has become a Kingsman target.

Merlin notices Roxy inching her way towards him, trying not to attract unwanted attention to herself. She hasn’t naysaid Harry’s activation, something that surprises him, nor has she countered anything he’s suggested. “You’re rather quiet,” he comments as her shoulder brushes against his arm.

Roxy shrugs. “What is the Mordred Protocol?” she asks, keeping her voice low. “I’ve been racking my brain ever since Percival mentioned it and I’ve never heard of such a thing in our handbook.”

“It’s a code of conduct for when an agent has gone rogue,” Merlin explains, pretending to look rather intrigued by his iPad. “In layman’s terms, it’s a kill order.”

Roxy turns to him, paling at his words. “A kill order?”

“Yes,” he continues. “We’ve only enacted it once and that was during the Second World War. Adolph Hitler was a Kingsman out of our German branch, and it took us several years to finally get our hands on him.”

“But historians say…”

Merlin chuckles at her shock; most people have the same reaction when they hear of Kingsman’s less than pristine past. “That he and his mistress committed suicide. Not so, Lancelot. Our agents were able to infiltrate his inner circle and finally put an end to that madness,” he whispers.

“Bloody hell,” she gasps. Roxy hugs her arms to herself and chews on her bottom lip, silently processing what she’s been told. “They wouldn’t do that to Eggsy, right?”

He swallows hard. “God, I hope not.”

“He’s not himself,” Roxy quietly insists. “Everything he’s doing…it’s not Eggsy. He would never…he wouldn’t do this!”

Merlin touches the small of her back, rubbing the area in comforting circles. “We will get him back before it comes that, Roxanne,” he assures. When she looks at him with glassy, amber colored eyes, he smiles. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Harry closes his eyes as the familiar weight of a signet ring warms in his palm.

“Reminiscing?” Merlin teases.

He blinks, confused, until his friend gestures towards the object in his hand. Harry closes his fingers around it, shaking his head. “And if I am?” he questions as Merlin goes to fetch a pair of Oxfords.

“You were always a sentimental twit,” the other man comments from over his shoulder. “There we are. A fresh pair ready for your use. Mind the heel.”

Harry handles the shoes with care and tucks them under his arm, catching a whiff of genuine leather and well-crafted footwear. “I remember, thank you.”

Merlin’s laughter rings against the walls, traveling through the secret passage of fitting room two. “Just checking, old friend,” he says, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes.

Harry huffs a sigh and takes the opportunity to look around at his surroundings. The last time he had been in here was with Eggsy, during the twenty-four hours the recruit was allowed to leave headquarter grounds in his mentor’s company.

He had shown the young man the treats and gadgets within these walls, watching the look of sheer awe wash over Eggsy’s face. Even with his sly remarks and an aborted attempt to nick a lighter, Harry knew he had chosen wisely.

“When he was activated, did you give Eggsy his things?” Harry finds himself asking.

Merlin turns to reveal that his smile no longer on his face. “Aye,” he says as he goes to lean against a column. “It was after V-Day. He already had what he needed, though it was given to him in a hurry, mind you. I wanted to do it the right way; how you, Roxy, and the others were initiated into our ranks.” He looks around, remembering. “He was mighty confused when I brought him in here, but didn’t talk back as he’s known to do. I took him out for a pint afterward.”

Harry exhales deeply and nods solemnly. “Thank you for doing that, Hamish.”

“I thought you were mad when you brought Eggsy in,” Merlin admits. “But you’ve always had better instincts. I should have known that you knew what you were doing.”

“Not entirely,” Harry states. “I should have never left him in Russia.” The room goes quiet with his confession, now that it’s been said aloud. “None of this would have happened if I had been a little braver.”

“You don’t know that,” Merlin counters. “The nerve agent was already introduced to Eggsy’s system. It was just a matter of time before it activated.”

Harry disagrees. “I could have prevented it. If I had returned to London with him…”

“Something else would have set him off, Harry,” Merlin tells him, his voice firm. “And you could have been killed, so count your blessings. We just need to find him before he gets to Madame Delacroix.”

Vesper Delacroix, a near-mythological creature who ruled the criminal underworld long before Richard Valentine tried to. She had founded the JACKAL organization for reasons that Kingsman never uncovered, but her network had grown rapidly, which was impressive for a woman of twenty-five, at the time.

She seems to be very good at evading those who want to arrest or kill her; they end up dead or simply disappear.

“Did he have a contact during his mission?” Harry asks.

His friend nods. “Ah, yes. A man by the name of David Alan Webb; an ex-pat of some sort. Welsh living in Moscow, though who knows what his current status is now.”

“Do we have eyes in Moscow?”

“Several—you remember Melehan and Tallesin, don’t you? Well, they’ve been on the ground and haven’t seen a trace of the bloke,” Merlin explains. “If he’s left Russia, which I suspect he has, he did it before we even knew Eggsy had been injured during his mission.”

Harry ponders this information, making his way to the chaise to sit down. “Do you think this Webb fellow was working for Ms. Delacroix?” he asks.

“Anything is possible,” Merlin says.

“How did Eggsy come into contact with him?”

The other man shrugs. “Our source was a former member of JACKAL, who was killed shortly after Eggsy arrived in Moscow. He had gone to survey the crime scene and came back with Webb as his contact.”

“Perhaps Vesper wanted Eggsy to find the Russian operation. She’s a clever woman and she’s not one to act without a reason,” Harry surmises. He taps the signet ring while he muddles through his thoughts. “This could have been her plan all long—to test out the nerve agent on a Kingsman rather than using one of her own people.”

Merlin raises a brow. “So if you hadn’t come, they would have treated his wounds and sent him back to us.”

“Exactly,” Harry says. “Vesper wanted to send us a ticking time-bomb. She always loved irony.”

“Why is that?” Merlin questions. “Why do the villains love irony? It’s extremely overdone, if you ask me.”

He smirks. “I will be sure to tell Vesper when I see her,” Harry assures him.

 

* * *

 

The thing about Tangier is that it’s hot as fuck out.

And crowded, but that’s what Eggsy gets for going there—a hot, crowded city with too many idiots and not enough time to weed through them all.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling the material of his t-shirt sticking to his sweaty back. Eggsy is glad that he had the hindsight to pack for warmer weather, but now wishes he threw in a few tank tops. He pushes his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose and goes to wipe his hairline.

Traveling to this location had been easy enough: after arriving in Paris, Eggsy took a flight to Madrid and went by train to Gibraltar, where he caught the ferry. By the time he checked in the hostel, he needed a warm meal, a cold shower, and some sleep.

The first two items were easy enough to obtain, but the last one became an elusive beast. Like trying to catch smoke with his fingers.

He snatched a few hours here and there, though Eggsy’s mind never stopped running. The young man was too preoccupied with his plans—calculating, developing, and acting.

The strangest part of all is that he’s not tired, not even slightly. He reckons with all the tossing and turning that he’d be an absolute wreck, but no such thing happens.

He doesn’t even dream, not once. Harry doesn’t haunt his every waking moment, though he pops up from time to time. It’s fleeting, disappearing as quickly as his memory comes. It’s as if Eggsy knows that Harry exists, but is so far removed that it hardly affects him.

Pausing to crack the cartilage in his neck, Eggsy takes a moment to purchase a perspiring bottle of water from a street vendor. He drinks most of it down with a single chug and dumps the rest upon his head, hoping to cool himself down.

There is also the matter of finding David Webb, if that’s the bloke’s real name.

During their brief acquaintance in Moscow, the Welshman talked nonstop about Tangier. Taking that into consideration, Eggsy decided to head there first.

He’s only been in the city for a day and half, though he’s made excellent progress on tracking down his former contact. Eggsy has already spotted David wandering around a plaza, wearing head to toe linen and a nasty sunburn on his pasty skin.

Gone were the slick suits and coiffed hair, replaced by a man looking for a life of leisure. David still had that enigmatic charm and easy grin, dazzling all those around.

 _He would make a good Kingsman,_ Eggsy thought as he finished off his cigarette, trapping the smoke in his mouth and exhaling it through his nostrils. _Too bad ‘bout that death wish, mate._

Eggsy left without any detection and went back to his hostel to clean his gun.

The weapon is concealed by his shirt, tucked into the waist of his jeans. Two magazines are taped to both sides of his body and seem to withstand this god awful heat.

He spots David several stalls ahead of him, where he’s looking over the vendor’s goods. Eggsy surmises that because of his height and lithe frame, his contact is a fast runner. David’s body is in no way close to the condition of his, though the young man is certain of the Welshman’s ability in hand-to-hand combat.

Eggsy can pack a punch, but David is quick.

His target glances up, observing his surroundings until his blue eyes fall on Eggsy. They flicker with recognition, then surprise. Instead of causing a commotion, David stands still for a moment, taking Eggsy in, before walking away.

He follows David, making sure not to tail the other man too closely as he weaves his way through the crowd. Eggsy notices that the Welshman turns his head every so often, checking to see if the Kingsman is still following him.

They walk further away from the market and into a quieter neighborhood.

Eggsy realizes that David is leading him towards a secluded place; somewhere they can talk.

Or to ambush him with more JACKAL operatives.

Eventually he finds himself in a courtyard of a rundown apartment building that slightly resembles his old home with Dean. Voices, television sets, and Moroccan rock music fills the static air. David is standing under a tree, lighting a cigarette with a fancy lighter.

He looks hard, controlled as Eggsy approaches him. “Was wonderin’ when I’d see the likes of you,” David tells the younger man. He looks him over. “That is, if you wasn’t already dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint, mate,” Eggsy replies.

David huffs a chuckle, smoke coming from his mouth. “Not surprisin’ to be honest. You always seemed resourceful, even for one of them Kingsman.”

“Not with them anymore,” Eggsy says, narrowing his eyes. “We’re through with each other.”

“Oh? So quickly?” David taunts. “You botched their mission, so they tossed you out on your arse?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Somethin’ like that.”

David rolls his eyes and goes about smoking the rest of his cigarette. Neither man speaks until he flicks the butt onto the ground and stomps on it with his heel. “If in case if you was wonderin’, it wasn’t personal,” he tells Eggsy. “Sellin’ you out an’ all.”

“That does help ease the pain of three bullets in my back,” the younger man snaps.

The other man doesn’t seem too surprised at hearing this. “Only three?” he questions, brows rising. “You got off easy then.”

“That’s what you’re callin’ it?”

David shrugs. “At least you’re still breathin’…for now,” he sneers. He rolls his shoulders and jiggles his arms. “So how we gonna do this, you reckon? Gonna give me a head start?”

“We _were_ mates for a moment or two,” Eggsy agrees, slipping his gun out from his t-shirt. He takes off the safety, flashing David a smile. “I’ll count to three.”

The Welshman takes off as soon as the promise leaves Eggsy’s lips, kicking up dirt. He is quick to follow and enters the apartment building’s lobby, the soles of his shoes skidding against the linoleum floor.

David is hopping over a banister when Eggsy takes the first shot. The bullet embeds itself into the plaster walls, briefly concealed as the other man darts up the stairs.

Eggsy runs after him, taking the steps two by two. He hears the click of a trigger being pulled and ducks behind a pillar as two bullets hit the wall several paces in front of him.

He fires back, almost getting David in the shoulder.

They’re off again, feet slapping against dingy, cracked floors as they run through the building. Eggsy maneuvers his way through the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to think of how to outsmart David.

He knocks into an older woman, uttering a rushed apology as the contents of her purse slip onto the floor. She curses at him, the sound of her voice following him around a corner.

David’s laughter rings loud and clear, tossing a careless smirk over his shoulder. Eggsy continues to push his body, getting close enough to touch the fabric of the other man’s shirt. David grabs him, pulling his body over his shoulder and slamming him into the floor.

The air rushes from his lungs, leaving a painful ache. Eggsy recovers in time to dodge David’s fist. Bones crack and skin breaks as the other man swears. He grabs his wrist, bending it behind his acquaintance's back.

“Three,” Eggsy grunts into David’s ear.

The man below him struggles to break free. “Fuck you,” he growls. “You can kill me if you want, but you’re still fucked, mate. She’s already got your numba!”

“Who does?” the Kingsman demands, tightening his grip on David’s wrist. He pushes on it, bending the bone as the other man yells. “Who has my number?”

David squirms. “Kill me now, cuz I won’t tell the likes of you!”

“Ain’t that kind of movie, bruv,” Eggsy hisses. He breaks the man’s arm without hesitation.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell!” David screams, his face turning an obscene shade of red. “Vesper Delacroix!”

Eggsy sighs, tapping the injured man’s cheek with his free hand. “Was that so difficult, bruv? Who is Vesper Delacroix and where can I find her?”

“You fool,” David laughs darkly. “You was sent to Moscow to fuck up her plans and you don’t know who she even is?”

Eggsy draws his gun, pressing the end to David’s temple. “Answer the question before I blow your brains onto the floor.”

“Alright! She runs JACKAL,” the man answers quickly. “She runs the whole bloody thing!”

“And where is she?”

David shakes his head. “Dunno, guv!” He panics when Eggsy increases the pressure of his gun. “I swear to God I don’t know!”

“I appreciate your honesty, David,” Eggsy tells him before pulling the trigger. A cloud of blood, brain matter, and bits of skull showers the side of his face. He kneels down next to the body and grins. “Too bad it came a bit late.”


	6. Chapter 6

She receives news of her asset’s demise while having a glass of champagne.

Vesper Delacroix looks out into the Vienna evening, taking in her surroundings and grinning like a cat who ate the canary. Her drink is chilled to perfection because she expects nothing less and her personal chef is preparing dinner before they leave for the night.

Soon she will have her flat to herself and can curl up with a book in her canopy bed.

Even the most amoral villainess requires a break now and then.

She shifts her wrist, swirling the champagne inside of its flute, and releases a content sigh. Her phone beeps—not unusual given her occupation—and she goes to retrieve it from the coffee table. Downing the rest of her drink, Vesper saunters to the lounge area and picks up her phone, sliding open the welcome screen with her thumb.

What she reads makes her nostrils flare. Pinching her lips into a thin line, she takes a deep inhale through her nose and hurls the glass against one of her Chagalls.

Vesper composes herself quickly, raking her fingers through her dark brown hair.

While the death of David Webb is an event she hadn’t prepared for, especially when she told him to get lost, it is unsurprising once she has a moment to dwell on it.

He was a man dressed in nice clothing - just a disguise, really. A mask to hide his true character; a man of very little scruples, lecherous at best.

Someone who could never be trusted despite his pearly white smile and handsome face.

The majority of the people that cross Vesper’s path are just like him, perhaps worse in some cases. They come and go quickly - how she wants it.

If these business acquaintances refuse to follow orders, all she has to do is make a call and they are taken care of.

There are the rare occurrences that she must sully her hands and pull the trigger herself, but all is fair in global domination.

Vesper stands up straight, rereading the contents of her email and types up a response to her contact in Tangier. She wants more information on the kill - the usual who did it - before proceeding with her next action.

What she does know is that Kingsman wouldn’t go about a messy kill, especially one so public.  
They are gentlemen, after all, and display some tact, even if she would love nothing more than to see them obliterated.

It could very well be that young man that Kingsman sent to the Russian compound. He had been exposed to the nerve agent which is no coincidence.

Tapping the corner of her phone against her chin, Vesper thinks of Harry Hart and wonders what has become of him now since he’s no longer dead. It is possible that he orchestrated this.

“Not your style, love,” Vesper says to herself, smiling at the Kingsman’s memory.

She always fancied Harry—he was a lovely creature—and wondered what bargain he made to come back to life.

Perhaps the Devil hadn’t wanted him…his loss is her gain.

“Madame Delacroix,” her butler calls, the woman’s eyes glancing at the broken glass on the floor. “Your dinner is ready.”

Vesper nods. “Thank you, Noémie. I will be there in a moment.” She tracks the woman’s progress as she leaves, no doubt to fetch a dustpan and a broom to clean up the mess. Tossing the phone on her couch, Vesper undoes the cuffs of her blouse and proceeds to the dining room.

Even villainesses need to eat.

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Roxy laments from her seat on the jet. “That Webb fellow is dead.”

What follows is the sound of Percival knocking his rook piece onto the carpeted floor and his cursing as he picks it up. “You’re joking!”

“Since when you’ve me to joke,?” she deadpans.

Harry tries to stop his lips from twitching with amusement and fakes a cough. “What do we know?” he asks.

“His body was found in an apartment complex located in Tangier. No word on if he resided there. The tenants reported a scuffle before they heard the gunshot,” the young woman reports. She taps the screen of her iPad. “None of them saw anything, of course. Crime photos are on your devices, gentlemen.”

He opens the protective cover of his iPad and finds himself staring at what’s left of a man’s head and gore splattered all over a dingy floor. “Well, I can say without fail that I am no longer in the mood for tenderloin Carpaccio,” Harry comments, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

“He was killed with one of our standard issued TT-30s,” Roxy states while glaring at him. “Not quite as funny now, hrm?”

Thoroughly chastised, Harry sinks against the back of his seat.

“We can all assume that Galahad got to him,” she continues. “Judging by the superficial wounds, they must have fought before Webb was shot. Once we land in Vienna, I’ll have Merlin run our facial recognition software to determine if Galahad entered Morocco legally or by other means.”

Percival is still looking at the crime scene photos. “Perhaps we should reroute the jet to Tangier?”

“He’s long gone by now,” Harry says.

Roxy nods. “I agree,” she adds. “Galahad probably left within hours of the kill and is already back on the Continent. It’s just a matter of what Webb told him and where he’s headed.”

“There is the possibility that he’s already on his way to Vienna,” Percival supplies, glancing up from his iPad. “A very slim one, yet something we need to take into serious consideration.”

Harry palms his face. “You’re saying I should contact Ms. Delacroix and arrange a meeting.”

“Despite her unsavory affiliations, it would be proper to warn her of an attempt on her life,” the other man suggests. He brushes his glasses back up his nose with a finger. “An enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Galahad _is not_ the enemy!” Roxy shouts, her cheeks blooming in fury. “He’s not in his right mind!”

Harry nods at this. “I am in complete agreement with you, Lancelot, but Percival has a valid point. Eggsy is not thinking rationally. If we allow him to get anywhere close to Ms. Delacroix without warning her, the implications could be catastrophic. For Kingsman _and_ Eggsy.”

“Our number one priority is to detain Galahad and transfer him to the nearest Kingsman location,” the young woman snaps at him. “Not to hand him over to JACKAL!”

He rubs his temple, feeling the scar from Valentine’s bullet against his finger. “It’s quite the opposite, Lancelot. If I am able to successfully appeal to Vesper, she can be of use to us in capturing him unharmed. I suspect that she’ll want a full report on our findings in regards to the nerve agent, perhaps some blood and tissue samples.”

“You mean to further her research,” Roxy huffs.

Harry groans. “I never said it would have to accurate information,” he replies, earning a stunned look from Roxy. “The three of us are well aware of what kind of problems will most likely arise if we simply hand over everything.”

“Can she be trusted not to kill Galahad?” Percival inquires.

“He’s too valuable to her,” Roxy answers, her brown eyes still on Harry. “How do you know that she won’t turn him against us?”

The way they speak of Eggsy irks Harry—as if he’s just goods for trade. Even he’s guilty of it, using what Dr. Hanover may find as a bargain to ensure that the young man won’t get killed or taken prisoner.

Or kill another.

Harry reckons that once this situation comes to an end—a happy ending, if he has any say in the matter—Eggsy will carry a measure of guilt for the innocent people he murdered. Perhaps not so much with David Webb, but there could be others. There _will_ be others.

And guilt does terrible things to a person’s psyche.

“Eggsy is too loyal to turn against me,” Harry says quietly.

Roxy and Percival look at him. “What was that?” the latter asks.

“He is too loyal towards me,” he repeats, speaking louder. “Eggsy won’t turn against me, not after everything.”

“You also left him,” Roxy says none too gently as she folds her arms over her chest. She raises a brow, daring Harry to counter her statement.

He knows this and regrets it every day. “But I also came back,” Harry tells her, to which Roxy has no reply.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve lost your bloody mind!” Merlin shouts. 

His brogue is thicker when he’s angry and sometimes—depending on its level—indiscernible to the untutored ear. Harry shrugs from his seat, watching as his friends paces the room and mutters under his breath. They have only recently arrived at the Kingsman safe house in Vienna and neither one of them has bothered to unpack.

It had been decided on the jet that he would be the one to tell Merlin in private while Roxy and Percival brought the Austrian branch up to speed on the latest news.

“Has your head injury muddled your common sense?” his friend continues on, his voice growing louder.

Harry sighs. “No more muddled than it was prior to being shot in the head,” he answers calmly.

“Did one of Valentine’s bullets nick a cortex?” Merlin snaps, to which Harry shakes his head. “What the bloody hell makes you think that _this_ is a good idea then?”

He opens his mouth to explain his reasons for offering a parlay with Vesper Delacroix once more. “As I said before,” he starts.

“That _wasn’t_ an invitation for you to speak,” his friend growls. He walks to the window, tugging on one of the gauzy curtains to peek out at Vienna.

Harry waits patiently for Merlin to gather his thoughts and makes no move to press him further. Instead, he pours himself another cup of tea with some milk and sips it leisurely.

It’s been ages since he’s last stayed in the Vienna safe house, though not much has changed. The decor is understated and elegant, as all Kingsman facilities are, and located in a central part of Vienna, not too far from the actual Austria headquarters.

He recalls his last mission that landed him in this very room; about six months prior to being reintroduced to Eggsy. It followed a mission in Graz and Harry had missed his flight, thus ending up in the safe house for a day or two. He spent most of the time sleeping and catching up on his reading.

Like a perfect weekend, except without someone to share it with.

Harry sighs at the thought, hoping that once Eggsy is contained and recovers from the nerve agent, they will be able to have weekends similar to that.

“Alright,” Merlin concedes. “How will you go about this mad plan of yours?”

He grins into his teacup. “I will arrange a meeting between myself and Vesper—a dinner, most likely. She always fancied a good meal,” Harry tells him. “Everything will be on neutral ground and very public, forcing us to play nice.”

“For once,” Merlin grumbles. It is evident by the frown on his face that he won’t be going along with this plan by his own volition. “I don’t like this Harry. Vesper is as slippery as they come. She makes Valentine look like child’s play!”

Harry agrees with this assessment of Ms. Delacroix, who has been the mastermind of some truly horrific crimes and keeps her hand well hidden. “I don’t like it either, but what other options do we have?”

“None,” his friend sighs. “Unless we want to spark an incident with an international criminal organization.”

“And we have Eggsy to think about,” Harry says.

Merlin sits opposite of him and goes to pour himself some tea. “There is that,” he mutters, adding sugar cubes of sugar to the cup. “Do you truly believe that she will play fair?”

“I won’t give her any other choice. Vesper either assists us in placing Eggsy back into our custody or provides an anti-toxin or we allow him to hunt her down.” Harry reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone. “Even she knows what someone who has completed the Kingsman training is capable of.”

His friend watches as he starts searching through his phone contacts. Merlin shifts around until he is comfortable in his seat. “Are you _absolutely certain_ that this is our only option?”

Harry nods and he finds Vesper’s contact information, hitting dial followed by the speaker phone function. “Yes,” he replies over the sound of the call connecting.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” Vesper purrs in lieu of an actual greeting. “How is death treating you, Mr. Hart?”

He and Merlin roll their eyes. “Death was a holiday, Madame Delacroix,” he replies. “And how about yourself?”

“Oh you know…the usual,” she answers with a charming laugh. “Managing criminals can be tiresome, though I suspect saving the world is more so.”

“I cannot confirm nor deny this,” Harry tells her impassively.

Vesper lets out an over exaggerated sigh. “You’re no fun, Harry,” she complains. “Certainly death must have given you a sense of humor.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear, but there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

She laughs again over the sound of a lighter’s click and the drag of a cigarette. “I knew this wouldn’t be a social call,” Vesper tells him. “Is this about your little friend; the young man your people sent to spy on me?”

“You were always perceptive, darling,” Harry says as Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“Is Merlin there? I miss him so,” Vesper teases. “So tell me when would you like to discuss our predicament?”

He smirks. “How about dinner at Steirereck? I believe that this meeting deserves a good meal and a selection of over thirty thousand bottles of wine, don’t you?”

“I always knew you had good taste. It’s a shame you never considered joining JACKAL.”

“Perhaps in another life, Vesper,” Harry replies with a wan smile. “I should stress that this is just a dinner.”

The woman’s heels click on the floor as she walks. “A parlay? I am surprised by you, Harry.”

“Dinner then? Seven o’clock on Friday evening?” Harry says, deliberately ignoring her comment.

He can hear her shrug through the phone. “I don’t see why not. I assume the reservation will be under your name, dearest?” Vesper inquires.

“Of course, darling,” he tells her. “What kind of man would I be if it wasn’t?”

 

* * *

 

When he arrives in Vienna, it’s under the concealment of darkness.

Eggsy likens the experience to being high, which is something he’s well aware of because after all, while he may be skirting the posh life, he _used to_ dance on the wild side. He recognizes his surroundings from photographs and descriptions from friends and colleagues, though it comes in a disconnection as if he has snorted or smoked an illegal substance.

City lights dance and swim in his vision, sounds are too loud or resemble static, and people’s faces turn into indistinguishable blurs.

Eggsy blinks deliberately as he walks along the street, heading towards a hostel near Schönbrunn Palace. Palming his face, the young man goes to slap a cheek, then the other in hopes to shock him into alertness.

All he ends up with is stinging skin and the overwhelming need to sleep…and take a shower, judging by the smell of him.

He wonders if Bauer, Bourne, and Bond had to worry about such trivial things such as rest and hygiene. It’s truly a silly thought, as they are fictional characters, born of the imagination of some blokes with nothing better to do and not even courage to go on adventures.

 _Shower, and then sleep,_ Eggsy thinks. The three words become a mantra —a promise—as he pushes himself to shelter.

The man at the front desk is all wrinkled skin and wiry facial hair that looks upon the new arrival with unreadable eyes.

“Checkin’ in,” Eggsy says in raspy, broken German. He takes out a passport from his pocket, sliding it over the countertop. “Name’s Thomas Cronin.”

“You may speak English here,” the man replies as he goes to check the logs, keeping a wary eye on the young man. He types on a keyboard that looks like it’s seen better days and nods. “Private room, yes?”

The questions makes him do a double take, having been close to falling asleep only moments ago. “Yes,” Eggsy replies.

“Hmm,” hums the man as he checks him in.

Eggsy digs the heel of his palm into an eye and yawns before rolling his shoulders. It eases some of the tension in his body, though he wishes he could get an hour on a massage table—a post mission ritual of his.

“You look unwell,” the man comments.

He shakes his head. “Just need a full night’s sleep is all,” Eggsy assures with a grin.

This stranger doesn’t seem to buy it as he hands him the room key. “I will bring you warm meal tomorrow morning,” he says. “No need to go out.”

Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, but he finds himself truly touched by this man’s generosity towards a stranger. “Thanks, guv,” Eggsy says, unable to hide his surprise.

The man shoos him towards the stairs and goes back to whatever he was doing before the young man came in.

Eggsy finds his room easy enough and deposits his belongings on the floor. His accommodations are a far cry from Kingsman safe houses or five-star hotel suites, but it has a bed. Tiredly, he shuffles through his backpack to find a clean pair of clothes and his toiletries for the shower. The hostel has provided towels, folded neatly on the bed, and soon he’s off to clean up.

Showering consists of Eggsy standing under the spray of hot water, as hot as he can handle it, for a good ten minutes before he even thinks about lathering up his body with a generic brand of soap. With a slow effort, he begins to feel almost normal as layers of grime and sweat are washed down the drain.

As he’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom sink, Eggsy wipes his free hand over the steamed up mirror, revealing what he believes is a stranger’s face before realizing it's his own. He’s never seen himself looking so worn out, even after V-Day. The bruising under his eyes show how much Eggsy needs to rest and it seems that his entire face has lost its coloring.

He spits toothpaste foam into the sink, washing it away before turning his attention back to the mirror. A few days’ worth of patchy facial hair caresses his jaw, which Eggsy is certain looks sharper than normal.

No wonder the hostel worker thought he was ill.

Eggsy goes back to his hostel room; he changes and crawls onto the bed, half-heartedly tugging the comforter over his body. Sleep comes like a tidal wave, sweeping him into her bosom before Eggsy acknowledges that his eyelids are shutting.

He doesn’t dream of anything.

Not even Harry.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry wakes up to a cloudless Friday morning.

Usually an early riser, he opts to lie in bed and luxuriate in a cocoon of warmth for a time. He thinks of all the other mornings he’s woken up to, each different from the previous one whether it be because of location, weather, or a variance of time.

Some are more remarkable than others, of course, and there are the ones that are not worth dwelling on.

He thumbs the scar by his ear, feeling its ridges and unevenness. Of all the injuries Harry has endured as a Kingsman, this one is the most defining of his career.

 _And my life_ , he thinks.

Waking up alone in a Kentucky hospital, weeks after V-Day, he found himself questioning everything about his life. Should he go back to England and rejoin the ranks of Kingsman, or would it be better for Harry to disappear, allowing the world to think him dead?

He chose the latter by assuming a false identity, one he had created many years ago, and wandered the earth until Russia called to him. For a while, Harry’s life had been pleasantly calm and the hold his former life had on him fell away.

Until he received word that Eggsy was nearby.

True to form, Harry never fully left his life behind. He kept tabs on Merlin and Eggsy, using rather interesting channels to do so. He followed the young man for the two weeks, watching him from afar. There were times when Harry believed that Eggsy knew he was being tailed and braced himself for the moment they came face to face.

It happened eventually, in a field behind the burning JACKAL compound where Eggsy collapsed, exhausted, from bullets lodged in his back.

As he lies in bed, Harry remembers how he felt like someone had punched the breath right out of him until he realized the young man was still breathing. He had made a silent vow never to leave Eggsy’s side, only to break it days later.

 _I am a coward._ Harry swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and sets his feet on the carpeted floor. His robe is somewhere in the vicinity, though it doesn’t matter much as he will only discard it for a shower.

He could have been lying in bed with Eggsy, waking up to another dreary London morning with the young man glommed to him like an octopus. He recalls this from their single night together, the weight of his lover’s body against his own.

Harry turns to look at the empty bed and pictures Eggsy slumbering on, probably hogging the rest of the covers like the little cheek he is. “I could have had this with you,” he says to the apparition, watching it fade. “We could have been happy together.”

 

* * *

 

Eggsy tails Vesper Delacroix for the better part of a day and ends up in a disguise as a delivery boy in order to bug her flat.

It’s the oldest trick in the book and her staff falls for it like clockwork, much to his morbid amusement. The famed head of JACKAL always manages to surprise him with how young she truly is. At thirty-five, Vesper is decades younger than any other head of a criminal organization and thrice as ruthless.

Evidently this stroke of evil genius stops with Vesper, never reaching towards her household.

No matter; Eggsy is fully occupied by following around a pretty bird to worry about the ineptitude of faceless drones. He would be lying if he didn’t say that Madame Delacroix wasn’t attractive. She is beautiful in that dark, lethal sort of way that vaguely reminds Eggsy of Gazelle, except a long tumble of raven hair and blue eyes against pale skin.

And sans the metal legs.

Vesper is all glamour, like Lauren Bacall or Veronica Lake, and exudes a certain persona as she goes from appointment to lunch and so on. Always dressed to the nines with her hair and cosmetics immaculate, she never leaves without a pistol in her designer handbag.

It is Friday morning and Madame Delacroix is having her breakfast in the living room as she reads from a selection of newspapers on the coffee table. “Noémie,” she calls, with a bit of French lit in her voice. “What is my schedule for the day?”

Eggsy is on the rooftop of the adjacent building, listening to the bug’s transmission. “Can’t keep take of your own bloody schedule,” he mumbles. “Poor little rich girl is what you are!”

“You wanted to go over security for your dinner at seven this evening,” another woman reminds her.

The newspaper rustles. “Ah yes,” she remembers. “My parlay meal at Steirereck. He is making the reservation, correct?”

“Yes Madame,” Noémie answers. “Would you like me to bring in Hector?”

Vesper sets the paper down with a girlish laugh. “No, there will be no need for Hector,” she says. “My darling Mr. Double H is a true gentleman and won’t go back on his word. Besides, he needs me more than I need him. I have the key to ridding him of his little problem.”

The way her voice carries over the latter part of the sentence causes Eggsy’s stomach to momentarily ache. He thinks of Harry for the merest of the seconds.

“Come, Noémie,” Vesper beckons. “I need to decide on my outfit for the occasion.”

Their footsteps drift as the two women put distance between themselves and the bug. Eggsy hears them toss around Stella McCartney as a viable option for tonight's’ dinner before he loses interest.

It reminds him of Roxy. He reckons that she would have enjoyed the conversation taking place and perhaps suggest a mass of designers while Eggsy rolled his eyes.

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket, digging around for the disposable cell phone he purchased the day before. From his perch, Eggsy looks up Steirereck, finding the address in record time. As he dismantles his equipment, he wonders how people did anything without the internet.

 _Suppose they got creative is all_ , Eggsy muses a while later. He scopes out the restaurant from across the Wienfluss, a river that flows through Vienna. Lighting a cigarette, he decides on a vantage point that will give him a clear shot of Vesper Delacroix and her “darling” Mr. Double H.

Exhaling smoke, Eggsy hopes that this gentleman caller of hers isn’t too attached to Madame Delacroix or doesn’t mind the sight of blood.

He walks the perimeter, noting escape routes as tourists snap photographs—five of them in total, including one that will bring Eggsy to the epicenter of the city.

The perfect way to disappear.

Once the cigarette is finished and mashed into the ground with the heel of his trainers, Eggsy heads back to the hostel. He formulates a plan, which he goes over and over as he cleans the sniper rifle he purchased in some Spanish shithole.

The weapon reminds Eggsy of the AX50 he used during Kingsman training and he knows that it will more than do the job. Shame that he’ll need to toss it into the Danube in a few hours.

“Such is life,” he mutters to himself.

 

* * *

 

Harry is seated at the dinner table with a glass of brandy when Vesper approaches him, dazzling in a white pantsuit under a black trench coat.

She flashes him a feline-like smile as he rises from the dining chair. “Harry,” she greets, leaning in to kiss his cheek. The smell of her Chanel perfume surrounds him. “You look dashing!”

“Why thank you,” Harry replies, brushing his lips against her smooth skin. “I must say that you always look rather beautiful, Vesper dear. May I take your coat?”

Vesper shrugs the article of clothing off with a graceful movement and a coy smile, which he returns. “Always so polite,” she purrs as she takes a seat. “What are you drinking?”

“Scotch,” Harry tells her once he’s settled back down. “I remember you disliking it.”

“Bad experience when I was a schoolgirl,” Vesper comments. “My friends and I snuck a bottle into our dorm. The results were less than pleasant, as you may have guessed.”

Harry fails to suppress a grin. “It’s a part of growing up.”

“So they say,” she replies.

To anyone else in the dining room, Harry and Vesper look like old friends—perhaps more, if one were to read into the way they flirt with one another—rather than a spy and the head of a criminal organization. She orders a cocktail from a waiter, charming him with her red lipstick smile.

“Let me look at you,” Vesper tells Harry. She takes him in with her blue eyes, smirking every so often before nodding with approval. “Death has treated you well, especially with that tan. Bali?”

Harry shakes his head. “Mykonos, actually.”

“Greece?” she questions, the perfect arches of her brows raising towards her hairline. “I never expected the likes of you to go there.”

He offers a dimpled half-smile. “Hence why I chose it, darling.”

“Touché,” Vesper laughs.

The waiter comes back with her drink, to which Harry announces that they are ready for dinner, all seven courses with the chef’s selection of accompanying wines.

“Did you have a companion on your travels?” Vesper inquires once the waiter is out of earshot. She sips her cocktail, nodding in satisfaction as Harry shakes his head. “Really? No one to keep your bed warm?”

He avoids her eyes and shrugs as he peers at his glass of brandy. “I wanted time to myself.”

“Yes, they do run you rather hard, don’t they?” the lady comments, referring to Kingsman. “Still, I find it impossible to think that _you_ didn’t have a beautiful creature waiting for you.”

Eggsy’s face comes to mind, followed by his capable body. Miles of birthmark and freckles on fair skin, mapping a path for Harry’s lips to follow. The mossy green pools of his eyes and plushness of the young man’s mouth.

“Perhaps,” Vesper continues, “that beautiful creature is why you ran away in the first place.”

Harry looks up at her. “Am I _that_ transparent?” he teases, morosely, and hoping that she doesn’t answer.

“It’s rather sweet, my dear,” she assures.

The first course is set before them as another waiter pours wine, allowing the conversation to go to trivial topics. In all honesty, Harry is glad for the interruption.

Vesper has always had a way to take his mind apart and dissect him, usually done in a teasing sort of way. But this is different since Eggsy’s life depends on it.

“Your little friend,” she says midway through the third course. Her eyes glint in the low light of the restaurant as she drinks down the rest of her wine. “Tell me about him.”

Harry pauses his devouring of a rather delicious. “There isn’t much to tell,” he replies with an air of casualness as he sets down his utensils. “At least anything worth divulging.”

Vesper frowns at this. “Harry,” she drawls, tilting her head. “I thought we agreed many years ago not to lie to each other.”

“It’s rather complicated,” he admits.

“Isn’t it always, darling?”

He chuckles at the statement, realizing how correct Vesper is. “He was my protégé and I submitted his name for Kingsman candidacy,” Harry tells her, noticing an all too brief red flicker dancing across Vesper’s chest.

“Congratulations are in order,” she says, stilling, reading his body language. “Or are they?”

Harry motions her to come closer. “He was exposed to your nerve agent,” he whispers, pulling her seat next to his.

The red flicker moves with the lady’s body, just as Harry predicted.

“Ah. You’re speaking about CTU-30,” Vesper reveals with a smug grin. Her delicate hand rests upon his knee, caressing him through the material of his trousers. “I’m quite proud of that one. Very unpredictable and hard to detect. Tell me, did your Kingsman doctors figure it out?”

He clears his throat. “Protein markers.”

“I’m impressed,” she says, delighted. Vesper claps her hands together as if they were at the opera, the sound quiet and non-disruptive to the other diners. “Well, if someone was going to crack it, it _would be_ Kingsman.”

Harry purses his lips. “He is coming after _you_ , Vesper.”

“Nonsense,” she tells him with a careless gesture of her hand.

“He’s already killed David Webb.”

Vesper shrugs. “An underling, if anything. Though a well-dressed one at that.”

“And he’s in Vienna,” Harry intones. “In fact, my darling, he is perched upon the building across the river with a sniper rifle aimed at your person.”

He feels her body stiffen. “You’re lying,” Vesper hisses.

“We made an agreement not to lie to each other,” Harry reminds her.

“How do I know that you didn’t set this up? You and your Kingsman,” she whispers harshly, despite the smile on her face.

Harry goes to brush a lock of hair from her face. “While I wish that were the case, my dear, it seems that what you sought to gain has backfired in spectacular fashion.”

“Why are you telling me this? You could have let him kill me.”

“Because I know that he is your first successful subject and, like all those with scientific endeavours, you seek the outcome,” Harry says. “We have that information.”

Vesper glares at him. “And I have the antitoxin,” she adds, disgruntled.

“Oh good, you’re following along,” he comments, gesturing for her to stand. Reaching for her coat, Harry offers her a smile. “There is a sedan waiting to take us to the Kingsman safe house, where we shall negotiate the terms of our arrangement.”

Vesper grabs her coat. “I haven’t agreed to _anything_ ,” she snaps.

“He knows where you live, where you go during the day, every single face of your staff. Do you truly want your life ended by one of your experiments?” Harry counters, keeping his voice firm. “Is that how you envision your death, Vesper?”

She goes to snarl at him before her expression drops. “No.”

“Good,” Harry states, extending his hand. “Then come with me.”

He walks her through the restaurant, pausing to pay for their meal while shielding Vesper’s body with his own. Together, they wear false smiles while exiting the establishment and into the cold Vienna evening.

A few paces away is the nondescript black sedan, whose driver side door opens. Roxy’s face appears, looking as focused as ever, and nods at the approaching couple.

“Never did I believe that I would see an honest to God  _Kingswoman_ ,” Vesper quips, loud enough for the young lady to hear.

Harry frowns. “Of course there are women in our organization,” he tells her. “Where would the rest of us be without the stronger sex?”

If Vesper has any other comments to make, they seemingly die on her tongue while a proud smile momentarily brightens Roxy’s face.

It all turns to shit rather quickly.

The loud clap of gunshots fills the air, sending innocent bystanders as well as Harry, Roxy, and Vesper to the ground, where they crouch behind the sedan’s open door.

“Well, he wastes no time,” Madame Delacroix snarls.

Harry turns to both women. “Get her out of here,” he tells Roxy. “Where’s Percival?”

“Down the way with Merlin,” she replies. Roxy motions for Vesper to get into the vehicle. “Come along. I suspect you don’t want bullet holes in your Stella McCartney.”

The older woman smiles, delighted by the young Kingsman. “She’s cheeky. I like her,” Vesper declares, her voice drowned out by more gunshots. A bullet pings off the roof of the sedan.

“Go!” Harry shouts as he dashes out from the protection of the vehicle. He scans the building from across the river, deciding to head in that direction.

He pushes his way through the crowd, rushing towards the footbridge that will bring him closer to Eggsy. Bumping into a young couple, Harry mumbles a quick apology that’s lost upon him picking up his pace.

His feet slap against the pavement, avoiding cars and people alike. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches as Roxy speeds off in the direction of the safe house.

Eggsy will be dismantling his weapon if he hasn’t already chucked it into the river below. In fact, Harry bets that the young man has done the latter and is making his escape to the street below. Rushing, he weaves his way through side streets and alleyways - routes that will be free of people and obstructions.

Harry comes within the shadow of a row of tall buildings, scanning their interiors with the help of his Kingsman issued glasses.

Nothing.

He taps the edge of his left lens, bringing up the infrared view and is met with a human-shaped heat impression rushing down a flight of stairs on the south end of the building. “Bollocks!” Harry curses, jerking into motion.

The older man turns around the corner just as the door slams open, the metal rattling on its hinges, and Eggsy appears in the fading light.

A brief flash of memory from Russia comes across Harry’s mind until he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by a young man whose jaw is covered in stubble and eyes, which are surrounded by dark circles, shine murderously. Everything about this is wrong—from his stance to his disheveled appearance.

What he sees is nothing like Eggsy. Even at his very worse, outside a police station, the lad never resembled the horrible caricature in front of him.

Eggsy sneers at him and takes off running in the other direction with Harry on his heels.

Their foot chase takes them into heavy traffic, where the young man gracefully dodges taxis and slides over the hoods of private vehicles. Harry trails after him, finding his own ways to maneuver through angry drivers and honking horns.

He notices Eggsy leaping onto the sidewalk, knocking over men and women without a single care. There is a quick over the shoulder glance and a frown from the young man, clearly unhappy that he is still being pursued.

Both assets race up the busy street, though his surroundings don’t seem to register with Harry. All he can focus on is Eggsy and the sound of his breathing while his blood roars in his ears. His senses—the ones from his Kingsman training, abandoned until recently—kick in over the noises of Vienna.

He notices Eggsy drifting towards a subway entrance and fires his gun before Harry can even register what he’s doing. The bullet doesn’t hit anyone, by some small mercy, and manages to scare the younger man away. Harry watches as the lad veers back on his original course, grabbing a teenaged body by the shoulders and shoving him into his assailant's way.

Harry leaps over the boy, gritting his teeth at Eggsy’s lack of scruples. _It’s the nerve agent,_ he reassures himself. _This is not him._

“Harry, what’s your location?” Merlin’s voice says through the glasses.

He huffs. “I’m near the Danube,” he answers, not slowing down. “Follow the commotion, Eggsy’s certainly caused enough of it.”

“I’m tracking your signal,” his friend assures just as Eggsy takes a sharp turn into a building.

Harry follows, slamming the door open with his shoulder. He ignores the sensation of bruises blossoming and pushes onward to catch Eggsy disappearing into a stairwell.

Pulling out his gun, Harry enters the secluded area with great care. He hears Eggsy’s footsteps a floor or two above himself as they ascend the metal steps.

The young man tries several doors and curses when he finds them to be locked, allowing Harry to gain on him.

Just as he’s about to land on the same floor, Eggsy takes off again, firing blindly and embedding a bullet in the wall only seconds after Harry’s body passes it by.

“He’s headed towards the roof,” he cries.

Merlin shouts, as he’s wont to do, “Bloody Christ!”

Several more floors pass, along with the exchange of gunfire, neither man hitting the other. It’s almost as if they are taunting each other with their weapons, brandishing their firepower before the real fight begins.

Eggsy makes it onto the roof first, pausing at his surroundings long enough for Harry to see his silhouette against the Vienna skyline.

He steps out onto the roof, sucking in the fresh, cold air. “Eggsy!” Harry shouts, to which the young man swings around, astonished.

“How do you know my name?” he demands, holding up his gun.

Harry shakes his head. “Eggsy, it’s me,” he gasps. “It’s Harry.”

He watches as Eggsy squints, adjusting his vision in the darkness. He looks so tired and lost, so unlike the young man Harry knows and adores.

“It’s just me,” he assures, taking a step closer.

Eggsy moves back, his jaw slack. “No,” he whispers, shaking his head. His gun goes off and Harry dodges the onslaught of bullets. “No! Harry Hart is gone! You ain’t him!”

“It’s me!’ Harry insists, holding up his hands in surrender. “Eggsy, my dear boy, it’s me.”

The young man issues an incoherent cry as his eyes brighten from tears. “No, you’re lyin’. Harry Hart left me, you ain’t him.”

“I did leave you,” he admits, his voice trembling. “I did and I’m sorry, Eggsy. What I did…it was wrong.”

Eggsy sniffs, ignoring a trail of tears that fall down his cheeks. “You is an imposter is what you are! Harry wouldn’t come back for me…he won’t come back for no one!”

He goes to call his name when the young man charges him.

Harry barely has time to register the sudden movement until he and Eggsy are flying through the air, shortly landing on the gravel covered roof. A fist connects with his jaw, painfully gnashing his teeth together.

He dodges the next punch by a quick grab to Eggsy’s wrist and flipping their positions. Harry throws the younger man to the ground, punching him in the lip and trying to ignore the warm spray of blood that washes over his knuckles.

Eggsy’s fist connects with his stomach, then kidneys before he’s scrambling off Harry to reach for the gun he dropped during the initial struggle.

Harry pulls on his ankle and is on Eggsy before he hits the ground. He has the young man in a choke hold, wincing as arms and legs flail wildly. “It’s me, Eggsy,” Harry tells him. “I’m here. You don’t want to do this.”

“Fuck you!” the lad shouts, using all his bodily force to get Harry on his back.

Asphalt digs into his already injured face, filling abrasions with dirt and creating new wounds. Eggsy punches him again, this time in the mouth. The metallic tang of blood drenches his tongue and throat when Harry swallows.

In a blind fury, Eggsy’s hits keep coming, growing more violent as seconds pass.

“Eggsy!” Harry bellows, trying to block them with some success. He hears the crunch of glass under the young man’s knees, where he spies several large, jagged pieces within inches of his fingers. “Eggsy! Stop!”

The lad yells something that’s lost upon Harry, though the sound can only be described as demonic. He watches as Eggsy leans to the side to grab his gun, realizing that this young man means to kill him.

Without hesitation, Harry grabs blindly for the broken glass and shoves it into Eggsy’s side. The warmth of blood and his lover’s startled cry bring him back to reality. Harry looks up at the young man’s face, whose eyes are wide in disbelief.

“Eggsy,” he whispers, watching the young man stumble to his feet with the glass shard obscenely protruding from his body. “Eggsy?”

His lover’s eyes are upon him, all bloodshot and confused. He continues his backward movements, drawing closer to the edge of the roof. “Harry?” Eggsy calls, uncertain.

Before Harry can respond, he watches in absolute horror as Eggsy tumbles over the roof and falls into the churning Danube.


	8. Chapter 8

Ten stories; it’s a long way to fall.

No matter how one tries to tell it, you are falling ten _fucking_ stories and the velocity of the fall makes hitting the black waters of the Danube feel like slamming into concrete.

Eggsy freezes, stunned by the impact and the piece of glass embedded into his side. He floats aimlessly under the surface, moving with the current while the cold bites at his extremities, shocking the young man into action. He begins to thrash in the water, the pain from his fall causing his body to scream and protest at the slightest movement. Every bone is grinding on top of the other; new bruises blossoming over him.

Eggsy opens his eyes, ignoring the sting of water, to attempt to find his way to the surface. The river is leaden with the winter chill and unpredictable current, making his quest for oxygen a bit more difficult than necessary. He spots lights dancing across the surface and kicks his way upward.

His fingers are the first part of his body that is freed from the water. The tips graze the frigid air of Vienna, followed by his head breaking through the surface. Eggsy inhales deeply, choking, and slips back under the murky water, swallowing some of it. He jettisons up and gulps more precious oxygen.

Eggsy is able to keep control of his body this time, despite the growing pain in his side, as he swims to shore. He knows that he has to keep moving, for the temperature of the water will start to affect him soon and he needs to stay alive long enough to get to land for his next move.

Shivering and teeth chattering, Eggsy pulls himself through the water, swimming as fast as he can. It’s too dark for anyone to spot him; his instincts - Kingsman or not - knows it. He will easily blend in with the darkness and disappear.

Eventually, his hand grazes the uneven surface of a stone. Eggsy finds himself staring at a low wall and releases a sigh of relief. He grabs onto the wall with frozen fingertips and goes to pull himself up, igniting a sharp pain in his side.

He slips and falls back into the water, the stones scraping his skin. Eggsy sputters to the surface, grunting angrily while he looks for another means of escape.

His new injuries are starting to go dull, a sign that the cold is beginning to sink into his bones. The young man knows that he needs to get out of his current predicament soon or else…

Eggsy decides to swim towards the half-assed beach several meters away. He staggers to his feet, clutching his side, and stubbornly ignores the excruciating pain ravaging his body. A few steps in and Eggsy’s legs give out, causing him to land on all fours in the shallows of the water.

He reaches for the shard of glass and, while staring off at the empty streets, pulls it from his body. Eggsy’s vision whites out for a single moment as a pained groan escape his lips. It recedes and he’s holding the bloodied object in his hand.

He tosses it onto the beach and forces himself to stand, swaying for a few moments before Eggsy decides he can experiment with walking. One step becomes two and two become three.  _This is good,_ he thinks to himself. _Keep at it, guv._

It doesn’t matter that he’s lightheaded or that there is a steady stream of blood wetting his t-shirt and the waist of his jeans. Eggsy is putting distance between himself and Harry.

 _Harry,_ he thinks painfully, swallowing the lump that suddenly forms in his throat. Eggsy shakes his head. That man hadn’t been Harry, despite all the stranger’s assurances that he was.

Harry wouldn’t come back for him; he knows that he wouldn’t.

Harry had left him in the middle of the night without a second thought.

He was gone and for this man, who Eggsy will admit resembles him quite a bit, to say that he was Harry _bloody_ Hart…

“No,” Eggsy whispers. “Ain’t like you to come back a third time, bruv.”

His head is pounding by the time he arrives at the back door of the hostel, quietly slipping inside and making his way to his room. Eggsy strips off his clothes as soon as he bolts the door shut and goes to his backpack, where a makeshift medical kit resides.

The wound is jagged and not as deep as he imagined, though it will need to be stitched. Eggsy examines the torn skin with careful fingers, silently wishing for Dr. Hanover’s presence just this once before opening up the kit. A pharmacy sewing kit glints up at him, all of the needles embedded with different color threads.

He reaches inside and grabs the kit, holding it up the light. “You’ll do,” Eggsy declares as he opens it up and pulls out a needle with black thread attached to it.

Sewing one’s skin back together is neither easy or quick. He is met with the resistance of muscle and tissue and nausea that forces Eggsy to stop several times.

Tears stream down his cheeks only to be wiped away by one of his shaking hands. “Fuck me,” he hisses, sniffling as he glances down at the stab wound. Eggsy drops the back of his head against the wall and releases a quiet series of curses before continuing.

What he really wants to do is scream until his throat is raw and can no longer emit a sound.

No, scratch that. He wants to go home to his mum and sister, where he’s safe and has a warm bed with a pug waiting for him.

The needle pushes through the next span of skin and a whine tumbles from Eggsy’s mouth. He wants to call Roxy - just to hear her voice.

Hell, even Merlin would do.

Eggsy finally— _FINALLY_ —ties off the last stitch and slumps against the wall, breathing in and out. The room darkens for a moment like he’s about to pass out, but the young man lucks out. He cleans up the mess and shoves it into a plastic bag to be disposed of later.

As he goes to the bathroom down the hall, he reckons that it would be incredibly embarrassing to be found passed out naked by the owner of the hostel.

Clearly, something that Roxy would laugh about.

He ends up vomiting in the shower stall with a hand cradling his aching side. Hot water beats down his back, washing away blood and the bitter cold that still clings to Eggsy’s person.

By the time he’s brushed his teeth and made it back to the privacy of his hostel room, he knows he has to leave Vienna.

Even if his body is protesting every last movement, Eggsy needs to be on the next train out of the city.

He hastily eats a protein bar, hoping to replenish some of the nutrients his body has lost, and goes about dressing his wound, then his body, very slowly.

The material of his clothes makes his bruises scream as they go on, so much so that Eggsy has to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

His belongings that aren’t stained with blood are placed into his backpack, and with one last look around the room, Eggsy quietly leaves to hail a cab. Even as thick as he is, the young man knows he’s in no condition to walk all the way to the train station.

He needs to save his energy for his trip, wherever that may lead him.

Eggsy decides on Berlin for two reasons: one, he likes the city, having been there on a Kingsman assignment; and two, it’s the last departing train out of Vienna.

The seven and a half hours pass uneventfully, a first ever since he started this endeavor. Eggsy stares out the window, watching as the nightscape passes in a blur.

A few times he almost falls asleep, only for a horn or loud scrape of metal to jerk him back awake.

There is also the constant ache in his side, reminding him that all is not well.

By the time Eggsy disembarks on the platform at Berlin Central Station, he is running on fumes. He hands his passport over to the ticket master for stamping before stumbling on. Eggsy yearns for his Kingsman specs and the sound of Merlin chastising him as he wanders through the busy German streets until he finds a hotel with a vacancy.

His room overlooks Alexanderplatz, which on another occasion would be of some interest to him, but Eggsy’s main concern is the empty bed that awaits him. He places a Do Not Disturb sign on his door and closes the curtains, dropping his jacket, jeans, scarf, socks, and jumper until he’s standing in the bathroom with two painkillers in one hand and a glass of lukewarm water in the other.

Eggsy doesn’t bother staring at his reflection because what good would it do to worry? Blood hasn’t saturated through his bandages and onto his t-shirt, so that’s a high point, and all he needs is some sleep. With a shrug, he shoves the pills onto his tongue and downs with them water, finishing the glass and setting it on the countertop.

After a quick trip to the toilet and the sink to wash his hands, Eggsy falls onto the center of the mattress with a grateful sigh. He burrows into the covers and shuts his eyes, murmuring to himself about setting an alarm.

He’s asleep less than a minute later.

 

* * *

 

He dreams of a different life—one where Lee Unwin comes home from his Kingsman training, looking tanned, tired, and carrying a German Shepherd puppy.

“And who might this be?” his mum asks with her arms still draped around her husband’s neck.

Eggsy doesn’t realize it now, as he’s just a six year old, but his mum looks incredibly happy to have her husband home.

Relieved even, especially now that she and her son won’t have to spend Christmastime alone.

The dog is now playing with Eggsy, having made a beeline for him as soon as all four paws were placed on the carpet.

The little boy watches his father grin. “This is JB,” he tells his wife and son. The puppy momentarily pauses tugging on a piece of rope at the sound of his name, tail happily thumping against the floor. He sits on his hind legs and awaits a command.

“JB?” Eggsy questions, scratching behind the dog’s ears. The puppy leans into the touch and emits a happy sound as he settles back down on the floor.

His father squats down, ruffling his hair. “It’s short for James Bond, Eggs,” he replies with affection. “Ladies’ man, spy extraordinaire. He’s quite posh and resourceful.”

“And _completely_ inappropriate for a six-year-old to watch!” his mum warns, though there are hints of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Lee quickly nods in agreement. “When you’re older, we’ll watch some of his movies, yeah?” his father promises, nudging Eggsy’s chin with his knuckles.

At that exact moment, JB decides to forgo their game of tug of war and pin Eggsy to the floor, licking his face as the little boy giggles.

He smells puppy breath and the drizzle from outside on the animal’s fur, not caring as he hugs the newest member of the Unwin family to his chest. “Silly pup,” Eggsy coos.

Hours later when Eggsy is half asleep in his room with JB cuddled up next to him, he hears his mum whisper to his father, “I think JB has found his favorite human, love.”

“Traitor,” Lee teases as the bedroom door clicks shut.

They move at the start of the new year; it’s for his father’s new job which will keep him closer to home more often. “There are the occasional deployments,” he explains over dinner. “But only for a few weeks.”

Eggsy is feeding JB bits of chicken under the table. “Can JB come?”

“Of course he can come!” his father says, smiling. “There’s a yard for you and him to play in, even!”

Naturally, this gets him excited as all Eggsy has to play in or on is concrete or the gymnasium where he practices, but JB isn’t allowed to go there.

“Can I ride my bike on the street?” he asks.

His mum giggles. “If you stop feeding JB your chicken and eat your vegetables, love.”

Both Eggsy and JB pout, but do what they are told.

The new Unwin home is a renovated mew house with freshly painted black shutters. It’s located on a quiet street with other children Eggsy’s age and a backyard just like his father promised.

Harry Hart and Hamish, who prefers to be called Merlin, come to help and are introduced as his father’s colleagues. The latter is bald and wears thick-framed glasses and, if he’s honest with himself, speaks rather strangely.

The former, however, is tall—taller than his dad—yet holds the leash to the tiniest dog that Eggsy has ever seen. Even tinier than JB, who is growing larger by the day.

Dog or no, he is content to hide behind his mum while his dog trots over to them and demands to be petted as if he already knows these men.

The little boy finds this odd but doesn’t say anything as Harry slowly approaches him with a friendly smile. He shakes Michelle’s hand and engages in small talk—something Eggsy finds that adults are wont to do—before turning his attention to the little boy.

“Hello there,” Harry says to him as he kneels in front of him. The tiny dog sits quietly in the space between his legs, looking solemn. “What’s your name, young man?”

He peers out from his mum’s leg and shrugs. “Eggsy.”

“Eggsy,” the older man repeats, still smiling.

His mum runs her fingers through his hair. “Gary, really,” she explains. “He was born on Easter Sunday.”

“Ah,” Harry replies. “Very clever. How do you feel about your new house, Eggsy?”

He shrugs again. “S’alright, I suppose.”

“You see that house over there?” Eggsy nods. “That’s where Mr. Pickle and I live,” Harry reveals, gesturing to the dog. “You can pet him if you’d like. He won’t bite.”

With a glance to his mum, who nods, Eggsy steps forward to allow Mr. Pickle to sniff his hand. He giggles at the brush of a wet nose, followed by the dog’s tongue. “Hi,” he says as he strokes the tiny dog’s back.

“Could you do me a favor, Eggsy?” Harry asks after a while. He hands him Mr. Pickle’s leash. “Will you watch him while I help your mum and dad?”

Eggsy nods. “I take care of JB all by myself,” he announces.

“Well then,” Harry replies, grinning. “It seems both of our canine companions are in good care.”

He spends the afternoon in the backyard with both Mr. Pickle and JB, keeping out of the adults’ way. By the time his mum calls them in for the evening, all three of them are famished and tired. Eggsy bathes after dinner and makes himself comfortable on the living room couch with the dogs while the adults finish unpacking.

His dad and Harry find him sleeping with their respective pets using the small boy as a pillow.

Eggsy starts school, which makes him nervous because he has a tendency to be rather shy. His fears are quickly whisked away by two other boys named Ryan and Jamal, who promptly introduce themselves.

They become inseparable, causing the usual mischief that boys do.

Year pass and life goes on. Harry and Merlin become fixtures in the Unwin household, as does Mr. Pickle, who stays with them when his owner is out of town.

There are times when Eggsy and JB spend the weekend at Harry’s, staying up late and watching old movies while eating ice cream.

He gets excellent grades and mostly stays out of trouble. He goes to gymnastics, excelling at the sport and impressing his coaches and parents alike.

There is talk of training for the Olympics, though his mum and dad want to leave that type of decision up to Eggsy.

“Ain’t that your job, though? Tellin’ me what to do?” he inquires as he scratches JB’s head; they are lazing about on the couch while the telly is on in the background. He’s sixteen now and just starting sixth form.

His mum sighs. “Isn’t, love,” she corrects while his father chuckles.

“And while you have a valid point, Eggs, this affects your life,” his dad tells him. He’s just come back from another business trip, all tan and tired looking.

Eggsy shrugs. “What if I want to be like you, Harry, and Merlin?”

“So long as you enjoy it, I don’t see a problem with that,” his mum says.

His father laughs. “Aim higher, my boy,” he insists. “The three of us are right idiots if you ask me.”

“You’re my idiot,” Michelle teases, leaning over to kiss her husband’s nose.

Eggsy gags while JB barks in agreement. “Get a room, you lot!”

Universities offer him scholarships by the bulk—for his academic and extracurricular achievements. Sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes both.

Either way, offers come teeming in each day and litter the floor of the study. He eventually decides on Cambridge and after his exam, he and his friends go out to celebrate.

Jamal is the driver for the evening, as he’s not eighteen, and they end up in Eggsy’s old neighborhood.

“There’s a pub ‘round here!” he recalls, directing them to the Black Prince where they have a pint. As they file in, the bouncer shoves a loud, obnoxious drunk out the door with a curse.

The three teenagers think nothing of it and go about their night until it’s time to head back to Ryan’s because his parents aren’t home.

With Take That blasts through the car speakers, their laughter fills the air. Eggsy thinks that life can’t get any better and goes to say as much when he hears a car horn blaring.

Lights blind him, growing brighter and brighter until suddenly everything the world goes dark. He never hears the screams or crunching metal or how Jamal demands that Ryan undo his belt so he can stem the flow of blood that comes out in steady pulses from Eggsy’s shattered leg.

He doesn’t realize his friend keeping him semi-conscious while a bystander phones for help, singing Take That songs and assuring Eggsy that his mum is coming.

It turns out that the drunk they had seen earlier in the evening had slammed into the passenger side—where he had been seated. While Ryan and Jamal walked away with minor injuries, Eggsy ends up in a ten-hour surgery to repair his leg.

The drunk—Dean’s his name—is unscathed and hollering on about his car.

(He mysteriously dies in jail, though no one really mourns his death.)

Eggsy wakes up in a hospital room, confused and drugged to the gills, with his mum and dad by his side. His mum is crying when she realizes he’s awake and kisses him over and over, thanking God that her baby is alive.

He catches his father’s red eyes and knows that he’s been crying as well.

Eggsy doesn’t remember the accident nor most of the night that precedes it, something the doctor assures is typical of trauma patients.

In the proceeding days, there is talk about additional surgeries and physio. He’ll need to defer his admissions to Cambridge for at least a year, perhaps two, depending on how everything goes. “What about gymnastics?” he questions tiredly.

The room goes unnaturally quiet, save for the sound of medical equipment, and suddenly the young man realizes something is wrong.

“What aren’t you tellin’ me?” Eggsy asks his parents and his doctor. His eyes shift between them while his heart hammers inside his chest. “Mum? Dad?”

His mum folds into his father’s arms, whimpering into his chest. He watches as his father holds her close and whispers into her hair before letting her go to sit by Eggsy’s bedside. Lee’s calloused hand takes his own and holds it as he silently counts his son’s fingers. “The doctors aren’t sure if that will be an option anymore, Eggs.”

“But my scholarships,” the young man whispers, tears filling his eyes. He feels as if his heart is breaking.

His father goes to brush his hair off his face. “Cambridge also offered you an academic scholarship,” he reminds his boy. He kisses Eggsy’s hand. “You let your old mum and dad take care of it, yeah? That’s our job.”

“But Dad,” he starts to croak. He sniffs. “I ruined _everything_.”

Suddenly his mum and the doctor are gone and it’s just Lee in the hospital room. He’s holding his hand, the touch so real and warm.

“Listen to me, Eggs,” his father insists as the young man cries. He goes to wipe away Eggsy’s tears. “You need to be careful now, yeah? Things aren’t what they used to be.”

Eggsy nods in agreement. “Can say that again.”

“Listen to what Harry tells you, alright?” Lee says. “Trust him, even if you think he’s lying, you trust him.”

He punctuates each word with a heavy pause as if he’s delivering a punch. Eggsy is speechless, watching his father rise from his seat and lean over to kiss his forehead.

“Don’t go through with it, Eggs,” he whispers.

Before he has the chance to ask what his father means, Lee lets go of him and walks towards a part of the room that resembles an Afghan prison room.

There are five men, including his father - who no longer has greying hair or wrinkles on his face. He recognizes the previous Lancelot, though many years younger, and Harry.

Always gorgeous Harry.

His heart hurts just from looking at him.

Lee shouts, lunging towards a man that’s tied to a chair with a sneer on his face.

The words are lost upon Eggsy as he watches his father, not much older than himself, go to save a roomful of people from a bomb strapped to the other man.

His screams drown out the sound of it going off.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy splashes his face with cool water before deciding that a shower would probably make him feel better. He strips out of his t-shirt and y-fronts, then goes about removing the bandage from his side.

Unsurprisingly, it’s caked with flakes of dried blood and pus.

Eggsy gently inspects the area and notices the inflamed tissue along with how the skin feels warm to the touch. If he’s honest with himself, he probably has a fever. Naked, he goes to his bed where he finds the room service menu and decides to order something light. Eggsy’s German is not on par with Roxy’s, but it’s passable and the operator seems to understand him well enough.

He has thirty minutes to shower and change before his meal arrives, which is ample time to do so.

While Eggsy runs the water, he pops two aspirin for his fever, swallowing them down dry and reaching for a plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. He leaves it on the counter and goes about showering. His body is a giant ball of hurt. Eggsy reckons after his meal that more sleep is in order and in the morning, he’ll be as right as rain.

 _Perhaps some sightseeing_ , he thinks to himself as he washes the hotel supplied shampoo from his hair.

After drying himself, Eggsy pours a healthy portion of rubbing alcohol on his wound, biting his bottom lip to keep from shouting curses. The injury angrily protests at the rough treatment, though there isn’t much he can do about it. Eggsy covers it back up with some bandages and is just finishing dressing when room service arrives.

He hobbles to the door and opens it, allowing the young woman into his room with a cart of trays. She sets his order on the bedside table and has him sign his receipt.

She doesn’t mention his pallid skin or flushed cheeks or comments on how slowly a young man his age moves. For that, Eggsy gives her a generous tip and thanks her as she departs, shutting the door in her wake.

So what if he only finishes half of his meal and leaves it outside his door to be picked up later?

Eggsy is knackered and he doesn’t need to explain it anyone.


	9. Chapter 9

All he can think about—all any of them can think about, he reckons—is the look on Eggsy’s face.

The wide green eyes staring at Harry in disbelief, looking aggrieved and perplexed as reality starts to sink in. He looks so young, so impossibly young. Exhaustion seeps into his body, draining his face of color except for the blackened circles under his eyes, like bruises from a fight.

Except the only thing Eggsy is fighting against is his loved ones; a blind fury that overpowers him and forces the young man to things he’d normally not do.

 _Harry?_ he whispers, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Then he’s gone.

Harry replays it over and over again until his heart aches and he can hardly breathe. From their violent rooftop fight to the very moment the shard of glass penetrated Eggsy’s side, spilling blood onto Harry’s fingers…none of it gives him a moment’s peace.

He retreats to his room in the safe house, leaving his Kingsman-issued glasses on the coffee table for fear of shattering them with his bare hands. No one, not even Vesper, speaks to him and it’s a mercy, to be sure.

After all, what would any of them have to say? What words of comfort could they offer other than the thinnest sliver of hope that Eggsy is still alive?

After all, there is no body and everyone knows that one must check for a body.

It’s probably best that Harry is alone during Percival’s search of the Danube’s shore; he doesn’t want to face Roxy’s watery stare, Merlin’s stoic expression, or even Vesper’s careless indifference to the entire ordeal.

He doesn’t try to ransom his mortal soul with the heavens above, for they would probably mock Harry for his tireless effort. _What soul do you have?_ they would ask.

 _None,_ he’d reply because it is the truth, having killed the last of it the night he left Eggsy alone in his bed and disappeared into the darkness. _I have none._

In his mind, Harry would bargain with his life, begging for otherworldly powers to make it so that the young man lived. _Even if it means my death._

_You truly love him so much that you would die in his place?_

_Yes,_ Harry tells him. _I would. A thousand times, I would._

Except Death does not speak, even when one is in its grasp. It lingers like a specter; a chill that comes on as sudden as it came, leaving only its bitter memory and destruction in their invisible wake.

Time has no meaning for Harry and he is unaware of how much has passed when the door creaks open. “I am a fool,” he announces, noting the hoarseness in his voice.

It’s been long enough for disuse to settle into his throat, at least.

“Percival got a hit on Eggsy’s passport,” Merlin tells him.

Harry turns, ignoring the twinge in his back. His eyes are widening in shock and he wonders if he’s misheard his old friend. “What?”

“Eggsy is alive,” the other man states. “And in Berlin.”

A ragged exhale passes through his nose and mouth as if it’s been bottled up in there for ages. “Berlin,” Harry mutters.

“Aye,” Merlin says. “Just came through ten minutes ago. Roxy made visual confirmation through Berlin Central Station’s security cameras before we lost him again.”

Harry follows him out into the main lounge where the other two Kingsman work feverishly to establish contact with the Berlin branch and means of transportation. Vesper, on the other hand, is fledging disinterest and occupies herself with filing her nails.

“Lancelot, pull the Central Station cameras,” Merlin orders to the agent.

With a few quick strokes of her fingers, grainy security footage of train passengers filing through the Eurostar terminal appears on Roxy’s tablet screen.

A knot forms in Harry’s stomach as strangers' faces come and go until Eggsy, _beautiful Eggsy_ , trudges up to the window, slipping his passport under the partition to be stamped. He’s changed into different clothes and moves on his own, but deep in Harry’s marrow, he knows something is wrong. The forced smile, the heaviness of his eyelids, and the stumbling amble of his walk.

It’s difficult not to notice how sickly the young man looks, even worse than he did in the alleyways of Vienna.

“Eggsy,” he gasps, leaning over Roxy’s shoulder. Harry brings a hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles. “What have I done?”

Vesper is the first to speak, after taking a sudden interest. “Nothing that I dare say he wouldn’t have done first, my dear.” Several pairs of eyes fall upon her, something that has no effect. “The agent is meant to heighten ones’ instinct to kill—lover, friend, or foe.”

“This conversation doesn’t concern _you_ ,” Roxy hisses over the back of the couch.

The other woman raises a brow, amused. “Ah, the little girl bites,” Vesper states, waving her nail file like a dagger. “So clever you think you are, young lady, yet there is so much you don’t understand. This conversation _does_ concern me more than it does you. I know how to undo what’s been done.”

“A major point that we have yet to discuss,” Harry mentions, grabbing the nail file from Vesper’s grasp. He ignores her pout. “You have the antitoxin and we have your first successful experiment who wants to kill you. Where does that leave us, Madame Delacroix?”

Vesper folds her arms over her chest. “At an impasse, to be sure,” she answers.

“No,” he corrects. “We are most certainly not, Vesper. We are going to trade— _fairly_. The antitoxin for the lab results from our infected agent.”

She purses her lips, unimpressed by the bargain. “I really get nothing, Harry.”

“We could just let him kill you,” he offers casually as if he asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. Harry corners Vesper in her seat, leaning against the armrests with a sneer. “I could have you in Berlin within a few hours and make contact with him. You’d be dead before sundown.”

The villainess frowns. “You wouldn’t dare,” she counters. “We’ve known each other too long.”

“Try me,” Harry dares, grabbing her chin. There is a rather large part of him that wants nothing more but than to smash her skull into the table beside them.

Or stab her brain with the nail file.

Both are tempting; neither will bring him closer to Eggsy.

Vesper narrows her eyes. “Is he really worth the trouble, Harry?” she asks. “This boy with a strange name; do you love him so much that you would kill me outright? Battle all the horrors of the world just to bring him back?”

“Yes,” Harry answers without an ounce of hesitation. “I would venture to the depths of Hell if it meant ending his suffering.”

She laughs wickedly. “I could have loved you, but it seems that your heart is truly spoken for,” Vesper concludes. After a moment, she huffs a defeated sigh. “Fine. We have an accord; the antitoxin for your lab results. I expect blood draws and tissue samples, as well. Whatever is customary in transactions like these?”

“And you will have them,” Merlin promises from behind the commotion.

Harry lets go of her and steps away, in desperate need of a drink. He cards his trembling fingers through his hair and breathes. “Where is the antitoxin, Vesper?”

“In a vault at my flat,” she replies.

Roxy sets her tablet down. “Good,” the young woman says. “Make the call for your assistant to retrieve it on our way to the airfield.”

“Just because you passed a series of tests does not allow you to give orders,” Vesper drawls, threateningly.

The young Kingsman grins. “Ah yes,” she agrees as she saunters over to the older woman. “But I have Royal Marine level marksmanship and if you don’t follow my orders, I don’t give two fucks about blowing your brains out.”

Harry watches as a sweet smile appears on Roxy’s face, his chest fluttering with pride as Vesper is thoroughly pacified. Both Percival and Merlin are used to these displays of bravery, yet Harry can see the glint in their eyes as well.

“The choice is yours… _darling_ ,” Roxy simpers, thus ending all discussions to the contrary.

 

* * *

 

Take off is her favorite thing about air travel.

As a little girl, Roxy would climb over her father’s lap and press her face against the cool glass of the plane window, watching the activity on the tarmac. She could sit there, asking both her parents questions until it the fasten seat belts light came on. “Mummy, Daddy,” she would say. “Could I hold your hands like we do on the trains?”

With their hands covering her own, Roxy sat contently as the plane took off, squealing in delight at the ascent, the popping of her ears, and the way the wings cut through the clouds. Though she may keep her feelings on the matter to herself and her feet can now touch the carpet, Roxy still gets a secret thrill.

The cabin is filled with a tense silence, though Percival seems to not be phased by any of this. He sits across from Vesper, sipping on a cup of Earl Grey while messaging Dr. Hanover about the properties of the antitoxin and completely ignoring their guest.

Not that Roxy blames him.

She turns to who sits in front of her - Harry Hart. He wears his bespoke suit and Kingsman-issued finery, the poster boy of the organization. The thick-rimmed glasses are seated upon his lap, folded neatly and waiting for the right moment to be used.

To a civilian, Harry appears to be a well-dressed man, perhaps a businessman, who is used to travel and is taking the two-hour flight from Vienna to Berlin to relax.

Roxy knows better than this; she notes the tremor in his hands and bottom lip, which he tries to unsuccessfully hide. He hasn’t spoken or looked at anyone since boarding the plane.

To admit that you love someone must be nerve-wracking, she reckons, and having to do it in a room full of people who already doubt your intentions more so. It requires a certain amount of bravery to say one's feelings so freely even in the face of adversity, and it’s no wonder that Harry has now secluded himself in silence.

“You know,” Roxy says, “Eggsy used to tease me for enjoying plane travel, but loathing the thought of jumping out of one.”

Harry blinks at her, surprised for the briefest of moments because ever since this fiasco began, and rightfully so, she has barely said a word to him. If it didn’t have anything to do with a plan of action or a slight of varying degrees of the sting, Roxy has all but ignored his existence. “He never understood the complex emotions that come along with Acrophobia,” Harry replies.

“He’s quite fearless, isn’t he?” Roxy tells him, looking out the window to see the rising sun’s reflection upon the clouds. “Eggsy is.”

“Yes, quite,” Harry agrees. “Much like his father.”

Roxy leans back in her seat. “He mentioned that you knew him.”

“He was a recruit many years ago; for your predecessor’s position, actually,” he explains. “I submitted Lee for candidacy, even though his kind—the agents with families—were very few and far between our ranks.” Harry pauses in reflection, smiling to himself at the memory of Eggsy’s father. “He looked so much like him, even as a little boy.”

She props her chin upon the heel of her palms. “Was he as much of a pain in the arse as he is now?”

“Eggsy was very quiet, like a mouse,” the older man replies, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Well behaved and a bit shy. The first time I saw him, he was wearing a Christmastime jumper and playing with a snow globe on the carpet. This little chap - so reserved and wise beyond his years. In many ways, like he is now.”

Harry glances out the window. “It’s strange what you remember as you become older. I could see the makings of a great man in him, even as a boy, but I wish I could have predicted what would befall him. Perhaps there was something I could have done to stop some of it.”

Roxy chews on the inside of her cheek. “You can’t change the past,” she says.

“I never cared for that saying,” Harry admits, quirking a grin. “It feels like admitting to defeat.”

“You haven’t lost him,” Roxy points out. “Not yet.”

Harry’s expression softens at this. “I’m not certain if I ever truly had him to begin with.”

“May I be candid?” she asks, leaning closer.

He gives her a wan smile. “Have you been anything but, Ms. Morton?” he responds, nodding. “And you may.”

“Eggsy wouldn’t lose his mind over just anyone,” Roxy says cheekily, adding a wink for good measure.

At least it makes Harry laugh.

They land in Berlin fifty minutes later and do a quick round with customs before departing to a Kingsman-sanctioned hotel.

None of them trust Vesper enough to take her to any of the safe houses or even the Berlin HQ, which is just as well, Roxy decides, as the woman seems to sneer at each of them.

Harry especially.

“How do they know each other?” she asks Percival when they have a moment alone during their check-in at the hotel concierge. Roxy discreetly motions towards Vesper and Harry, who are lost in conversation while Merlin distracts himself with a phone call.

Percival rolls his eyes. “Harry goes about ten years back with Madame Delacroix; the details of how they met are a bit hazy. Not unusual in our line of work,” he explains in a whisper. “They used to be lovers for a time before he found out that she funded terrorism. Rather than turn her in, he and Chester decided to wait it out until the time was right. Brilliant thinking, come to think of it.”

“Lovers?” Roxy balks, saying the word a bit too loudly. She clears her throat. “Do you think she’ll go quietly?”

Her mentor shakes his head. “Doubt it, and knowing Harry, he’s on the same page. Xavier is testing the antitoxin properties on Galahad’s blood samples to ensure that it will work.”

“Do you think she’d give us the wrong antidote?”

Percival shrugs. “I wouldn’t put anything past her,” he replies. “Vesper is as slippery as the rest of the lot but twice as clever. I think she knew that Harry’s feelings for Galahad went deep and she is now using it to her advantage. Hopefully, Madame Delacroix doesn’t press her luck too much. I dare say, she’s never seen Harry lose his temper.”

“She probably assumes that he’s not even capable of it,” Roxy grouses, her eyes flickering over to their topic of conversation.

“I have no doubts that Madame Delacroix has knowledge of Harry’s capabilities,” Percival tells his protégé. “It’s whether or not he will use them against her person is the heart of the matter.” He signs for their rooms. “Though I daresay when it comes to Galahad, I believe that man would move the moon and stars for the lad.”

Roxy smirks. “Harry believes he hung them, I bet.”

“Love is a sickness,” Percival mutters, “and none of us are immune.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin finds himself not paying much mind to Madame Delacroix once she, Harry, and he are settled in their suite.

Besides, it’s his friend’s duty to keep their guest (a term he uses rather loosely) entertained while he sets up his workspace. Roxy and Percival have retired to their own rooms for a few hours of sleep; mostly to keep out of Merlin’s way as he winds his way through German networks and systems.

“So what do you reckon?” Harry asks as he saunters over, unbuttoning his cuff.

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing that concerns you at the moment,” Merlin mutters back. He gazes at the pacing figure of Vesper, watching her closely as she stalks the suite like an animal of prey. “What do you reckon about her?”

The question is asked in a whisper, yet it musters a raised brow from his old friend, who turns to look at the woman before addressing Merlin.

“She is pacified for now,” Harry assures. “Though it is safe to assume Vesper is used to more luxurious accommodations.”

Merlin snorts. “This is a four-star hotel!”

“Yes, well,” Harry says with a shrug. “And extremely below par for Madame Delacroix.”

He shakes his head, mystified. “The next time she poisons one of our agents, I say we just let them kill her,” Merlin suggests as he hits a few keys.

“I will keep that in mind,” the other man replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “How do you plan on tracking down our wayward agent?”

“Facial recognition software,” Merlin tells him. “I’ve hacked into every security camera posted in public epicenters, as well as major hotels, especially those frequented by tourists.” He glances over the rim of his glasses. “Eggsy will stick to those, somewhere that allows him to easily escape if detected—places with access to the underground and other modes of transportation.”

Harry tenses his chin. “What about hospitals?”

“He wouldn’t risk it,” he says. “We both know he won’t.”

His friend nods, his whole body becoming entirely stiff by the realization. “The Berlin branch has been notified of the situation, I assume?”

“They have orders to subdue and contain until our arrival,” Merlin assures. “At worst, they will sedate him and strap Eggsy down to a gurney.” He offers Harry a smile. “We will find him and bring the lad home in one piece, I promise you.”

The other man goes to reply, probably with something maudlin and dreary as most Englishmen are prone to when the software alarm chirps. Merlin curses a blue streak, having been running the damn thing for nearly two hours, as he pulls up the screen. “‘Bout bloody time,” he mutters.

He finds himself staring at Eggsy’s driver's’ license photograph and an image taken in a hotel lobby. It’s a clear enough shot to tell that it’s him.

“Where is that?” Harry inquiries.

Merlin pulls up the address. “Westin Grand Berlin,” he answers, exchanging a look with his friend. “It seems we have a delivery to make.”


	10. Chapter 10

Eggsy feels worse the next time he wakes up, not that it matters to the person on the other side of the door and their persistent knocking.

Opening his eyes is a task all its own, let alone stumbling out of bed, which he does and stubs his toe against the dresser. Cursing and feverish, Eggsy goes to the door and opens it abruptly, not bothering to conceal his disdain towards the clerk.

“This parcel arrived for you,” he explains, stammering and handing over a manila envelope addressed only to his room.

Eggsy only raises a brow and shuts the door without a thank you. He holds the parcel up to his ear, listening for the telltale signs of a bomb and finds it mercifully silent, not having the energy outrun an explosion. After bolting the door, he goes back to the bed where he sits down like an old man, minding his aching side with a poorly concealed wince.

He recognizes the black script—elegant and done by a masculine hand—from somewhere. The memory escapes him, as most do as of late.

In fact, Eggsy notices everything has become fuzzy in that aimless sort of way: when one tries to remember, but no matter how hard they try, it never quite comes back to them. Like someone whispering his name and the voice is barely recognizable.

Eggsy tears the envelope open, making a mess of the thing because he doesn’t care for keeping things neat. He wants to go back to bed as soon as possible; his body needs it.

A thin disposable phone falls onto the carpet, landing silently face down. Eggsy peers into the envelope, expecting a note and finds none.

He kneels down, grimacing at the pain that radiates from his side. “Bloody hell,” Eggsy murmurs as he swipes the phone from the floor and turns it on, watching it power up. He sets the device down on the bed in favor of checking his stab wound and gingerly lifts up his t-shirt.

The bandage sticks uncomfortably to his skin as Eggsy peels it off, only exposing a portion of the area that’s still inflamed, possibly even worse than before, and radiating heat. He secures the bandage again and palms his face, quietly cursing at the beeping phone.

Eggsy grabs it, tapping the screen to see that he has a text awaiting him. It’s just a phone number, no message of any kind.

He inspects the phone, finding that there’s no tracking software of any sort installed on it and feels a sense of relief.

With all these chips that turn people into rabid, violent zombies, not to mention all that super spy shit, you just never know what everyone is about these days.

He dials the number and on the second ring, a man picks up.

“Eggsy,” he says.

Panic nearly takes his voice. “How do you know that name?” the young man asks. “Who are you? Who told you that name?”

“I’m no foe,” the man insists. “I would like to speak to you in person if you’d be amenable to it.”

Eggsy doesn’t like the secrecy. “You didn’t answer my question, bruv.”

“I know— _knew_ —Harry Hart. He spoke a great deal about you.”

“Yeah, I bet. Before he got his brains blown out.”

The man sighs into the phone, his breath crackling into the speaker. “Eggsy,” he utters. “You and I both know that he’s still alive.”

His eyes begin to sting and Eggsy goes to wipe them, sniffling. “I promised I wouldn’t tell no one.”

“And you kept your promise,” the stranger assures over the soft sound of the younger man’s muffled whimpers.

“What do you want from me?” Eggsy whispers, rubbing his cheeks raw.

The stranger is silent long enough for him to think that the call has been disconnected. “It is actually what I can do for you,” the man tells him. “You are looking for Vesper Delacroix, are you not?”

Just hearing her name sends goosebumps down Eggsy’s skin. “What about her?” he asks. “She’s still in Vienna, I reckon.”

“Actually,” the stranger says, drawing out the word in an achingly familiar way.

 _Like Harry_ , Eggy thinks to himself.

“She’s here in Berlin,” the man answers. “And I know where you can find her.”

Eggsy swallows. “Why are you tellin’ me this, bruv? What’s in it for you?” He cups his aching side, pressing his hand into the tender flesh. “Did Harry promise you somethin’ extra if you helped me?” he asks angrily. “Said I was good for a night and wouldn’t mind if you left in the mornin’?”

“I am going to text you an address,” the man says, forcing his words out as if Eggsy’s own have wounded him. Like what Eggsy spews is meant for _him_. “Can you meet me tonight? At ten?”

He grunts. “Yeah,” he answers. “You better make this worth my while, mate, or I’ll make sure there’s another hole in your body before midnight, you feel me?”

“Noted,” the caller replies before hanging up, sounding so much like Harry it makes the pain in Eggsy’s side pales in comparison to his heart.

He allows himself to rest until half after eight and wakes with his stomach feeling unsteady. Getting to the toilet is a struggle, yet he makes it in time to collapse and vomit. There’s barely anything coming up, just the remnants of his last meal and spittle. Eggsy cries into the bowl, ignoring the putrid smell, and starts to wonder if that tosser he’s meeting knows of a doctor who will take cash and won’t ask questions.

After pulling on the handle and listening to the water going down the commode, Eggsy forces himself to clean himself up. Showering is a task all its own, but judging by the ripe smell of him, it needs to be done.

He forgoes shaving in favor of deodorant and brushing his teeth; besides, a bit of facial hair gives him a rugged look, like Eggsy should be taken seriously. With all of his stubbornness, Eggsy can no longer deny that the wound is _definitely_ infected. He tends to it next, doing his best to care for it with the limited supplies in the hotel room.

After a wash of rubbing alcohol and rebandaging it, Eggsy pops a paracetamol and chases it with a glass of water. He hobbles around the room, finding clean clothes and setting them on the unmade bed while trying to ignore the winded feeling he gets as he moves. Eggsy swallows it down and bucks up, pressing onward because he has a mission that needs completing.

“Then I’m goin’ back for that knob who stabbed me,” he mumbles while securing his holster over his jumper.

His TT-30 lies on the bed next to a jacket that isn’t suited for the Berlin weather, though layers seem to be the quickest solution to that. The gun is loaded and two extra magazines are stashed in the pockets of his jeans because he has no idea what this mystery bloke is playing. Eggsy secures the weapon in the holster, double checking everything before his eyes fall upon the phone that sits upon the bedspread.

He reaches for it and is unsurprised when he finds a new text containing an address. Judging by the time it was received, Eggsy must have been in the shower.

It’s a quarter to ten and he has a meeting that he shouldn’t be late for - he’s _supposed_ to be a gentleman. At Alexanderplatz, Eggsy hails a cab and gives the driver the address as he settles into the backseat.

The Berlin nightscape passes by through the cab’s windows; a mixture of old and new architecture and flashing lights. Eggsy doesn’t recall any of this during his Kingsman assignment and absently wishes he had paid more attention. Or watched _All That Jazz_ when Roxy had begged him to.

Silent moments trickle until the cab comes to a stop and the driver turns in his seat. “We are here,” he says in German and holds out his hand for payment.

Eggsy hands him more euros than he actually owes and exits the vehicle, shivering momentarily in the chilly air. He surveys his surroundings; rows of brick houses whose light paint reflects brightly under waxing gibbous moon. The neighborhood is quite ordinary, really, and reminds him of home. Eggsy heads towards the front door of the house and receives another text that makes his jacket pocket vibrate.

Fishing the phone out, Eggsy snorts at the message: _The front door is unlocked. Meet me on the roof._

“This isn’t a bloody Jason Bourne film, bruv,” he grumbles aloud, pocketing the phone once again. Eggsy nudges the door with his elbow, watching as it slowly opens and reveals a dimly lit entryway.

His hackles are up and sweat gathers at his temples while stepping inside. Eggsy closes the door behind him and listens for tells of another person as he reaches for his gun.

Only silence greets him, like an old friend or foe. Eggsy is currently undecided.

There is a staircase beckoning him and he removes the safety on the Tokarev as he ascends them carefully. It’s a slow climb, a deliberate action on his part and no mistake—  Eggsy wants to sense as much of his surroundings as possible and formulate a plan if everything goes to shit.

And if the last few days haven’t been a giant ‘I told you so’ from the universe, he doesn’t know what is. It’s a fucking blow to his ego, but Eggsy won’t say it aloud.

He has a reputation to maintain after all.

On the third story of the house, he finds another, more narrow staircase that clearly leads to the roof. Licking his lips, Eggsy makes the final steps and opens the flimsy door only to be greeted by a blast of cold air.

And snow.

Flakes drift down from the sky and melt against his cheeks, like gentle kisses from a lover. It feels better than it should; Eggsy knows it’s from the fever more than anything as he notices two figures standing at the opposite side of the roof that overlooks the street below.

Raising his gun, he moves towards them, heavily relying on his Marine and Kingsman training to keep his footfalls silent.

One of them is a woman, Eggsy decides as he draws closer. He can make out the curves of her body and the wisps of hair blowing in the breeze.

The other is distinctly male and contradictory to everything that is Kingsman. For one, he is not wearing a bespoke suit and then again, neither is Eggsy while his hair is rather untamed with all its wavy profusion.

His profile is achingly familiar, even with his thick-rimmed glasses and noble features. There is a brief moment that Eggsy watches the stranger pause and realize that he has company before he murmurs something to the woman.

Both of them turn, neither surprised to see Eggsy’s gun pointed at them, and step forward—the man more forthcoming than the woman. He whispers angrily into her ear and pushes her, flashing the metal of his own weapon.

“Drop the gun!” Eggsy bellows, keeping his hands steady. His bares his teeth. “Didn’t you hear me, bruv? Now or I shoot you in the fuckin’ kneecap! And you, miss, on your knees.”

The woman follows his command and does so with grace and a glare that would make most people wilt. The man, however, looks upon Eggsy with a face that’s mostly concealed by the shadows.

“Did you hear me?” the younger man spits. “Do it!”

With a sigh, the man moves forward with one arm raised and the other going towards the ground. “I wish you would reconsider,” he says.

“We don’t know each other,” Eggsy replies. “I’d rather have the upper hand if you don’t mind.”

The gun drops onto the gravel and lands with a thud while the man straightens his posture. It’s then that the light reveals his face and Eggsy feels like his heart has been punched out of his chest.

“No. _No_ ,” he chokes and feels like he’s swallowing glass. “No.”

Harry nods, his eyes looking sorrowful behind the lenses of his glasses. “Eggsy,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

He’s stared down the barrel of many guns during the course of his fifty years; none of them have been as painful as this.

Nothing compares to the glittering green irises of Eggsy’s eyes or the wounded expression that overcomes his handsome features and makes his body tremble. It’s the worst sort of agony.

Beyond them are the sounds of traffic—a trio of cars honking their horns, a shout here, a group of people laughing there. All of them blissfully unaware of the danger unfolding above them, hidden by the darkness and light snowfall.

“Eggsy,” Harry says again, raising both hands.

“Easy,” Merlin warns him through his earpiece. “Approach him slowly, you don’t want to spook him. There’s only so much Lancelot and Percival can do from here.”

A sharp inhale is Harry’s reply as he inches forward. The Berlin safe house is across the street—a deliberate act on all their parts—and a team of knights are posted on the opposite roof with sedative darts and live ammunition.

“I just want to talk,” he assures the young man.

Eggsy ignores him, turning his gaze towards Vesper. “ _You_ ,” he spits with venom. “I was supposed to put a bullet in you back in Vienna.” He glances at Harry. “But this one got in the way. Harry does that, don’t he?”

“More than you know,” Vesper agrees, sparing a knowing look at him from under her lashes.

Eggsy snarls. “I don’t really want to know your opinion, luv. No offense.”

“None taken,” she replies.

Harry sighs. “Eggsy,” he calls. “Can we speak for a moment? Before you do anything rash.”

“I have nothin’ to say to _you_!” the young man shouts, his voice fading into the night. His chest heaves at the confession, reminding Harry of the wounded look on the lad’s face the night he left for Kentucky. “You _used_ me!”

His shoulders burn. “I never meant to make you feel that way,” Harry tells him. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, my darling boy.”

“You left me,” Eggsy wails, his face collapsing with raw emotion. Completely unhinged and full of excruciating pain that he’s kept inside.

Harry watches as the young man gasps for air, ignoring the tears leaking down his cheeks and get lost in his scruff.

“When I closed my eyes, you was there,” Eggsy admits through quivering lips. “I remember, Harry. You was there and I was in your arms. I thought that you was goin’ to come home with me and that everythin’ was goin’ to be all right again.”

His chest throbs. “Eggsy,” he whispers, unable to hide the way his voice cracks. “I’m…”

“I woke up and you was gone,” the young man sobs out. With his free hand, he wipes away tears. “Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong, Harry?”

He’s unable to stop the tears from forming in his own eyes and making their way down his cheeks. “It was me,” Harry replies. “Why I left had nothing to do with you, Eggsy. I was frightened. I didn’t want my past to catch up to me…or worse, _you_. I never wanted any of it to hurt you…I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I love you too much to allow you to suffer because of me.”

“A deceitful answer,” Vesper states, jutting her chin in defiance. She smiles scarlet when both men turn to her. “A pretty lie for a pretty face, Eggsy. Is that your name, sweet? Harry will tell you anything to get you to stand down, but he’ll disappear again.” She sweeps her lashes upon her pale cheekbones, so dainty and charming, yet when her eyes fall on Harry, they are filled with poison. “Men like him always do.”

He narrows his brows. “You would say anything to spark a war,” Harry barks.

“And you would do anything to stop one,” she counters.

“God,” Roxy groans into Harry’s earpiece. “Can I just bloody well shoot her?”

Merlin sighs. “No, Lancelot. You _cannot_.”

“May I inquire as to why not?” Percival pipes in, surprising both Harry and the other English agents.

Eggsy makes a strangled sound, earning Harry’s attention. He looks at him and Vesper, bewildered and frustrated.

“Watch his trigger finger,” Roxy warns. “His middle finger is starting to shake; it’s one of his tells. Start talking him down _now_!”

“He doesn’t care about you,” Vesper continues on. “All of this rage you feel towards me, it’s truly directed at someone else. At _him_ , isn’t it?”

Harry watches as Eggsy swallows. “Don’t listen to her,” he says, carefully. “Eggsy put the gun down.”

“Just shoot him, darling,” she purrs. “It will feel much better once he’s dead. All that misery you’ve suffered will be gone.”

The young man shakes. “Harry,” he whispers, pleading.

“Eggsy, I know you don’t want to hurt anyone,” he tells his protégé. He nods, keeping his eyes trained on the young man’s face and waiting for a similar response. After a moment, Harry receives one. “You must be exhausted from all this running.”

He takes a step forward and Eggsy leers, the gun pointed at his chest.

“Harry,” Percival says. “I have a dart on Galahad. Just give me a signal, all right?”

He nods. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“They’re here with you; Percival, Merlin, and Roxy,” Eggsy surmises, searching the area. “Across the way, yeah?”

Harry shrugs. “And a bit of the Berlin branch as well. Percival has a tranquilizer gun on you and just asked me if I wanted him to shoot you with it,” he confesses with a wan smile.

“And Rox?”

“Sniper rifle, of course,” Harry answers. “That, I believe, is on Madame Delacroix. They don’t get along very well, as you can imagine.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “Surprised she hasn’t shot her yet,” he mutters. “Seeing what a loudmouth she is.”

“Little shit,” Vesper snaps.

Harry’s nostrils flare while trying to suppress an amused smile. “Don’t provoke him, Vesper darling,” he instructs. “Eggsy has remarkable marksmanship.”

“If I come with you, what will happen?” Eggsy questions with a wince. “Will Arthur toss me in some cell and throw away the key?”

He shakes his head. “You were exposed to a nerve agent in Russia which was developed by Madame Delacroix here and it’s caused you behave in a manner that is otherwise uncharacteristic,” Harry explains. “Dr. Hanover has tested the antitoxin provided by Vesper with your tissues samples, which was successful.”

“So what then? I come back to Kingsman and get treated and everythin’ will be all sunshine and roses?” Eggsy smirks in disbelief. “Sounds like a crock of shit to me.”

“I know the wound on your side will turn septic within the next twelve hours unless if you seek medical attention,” Harry counters with a knowing look. “The skin around it is hot to the touch and you’re growing sicker by the moment. You’re not trembling because of the cold, Eggsy, but from fever.”

The young man purses his lips together, gobsmacked by Harry’s correct observation. Even as he tries to steady his hand, Eggsy never breaks eye contact with him.

“You don’t want to do this,” Harry pleads. “You want to go home and see your mum and sister and JB.” He steps closer as his lover’s expression softens at the mention of his family. “Don’t you want to sleep in your own bed?”

Eggsy blinks, his throat working as he swallows down what Harry thinks might be another sob. “Yes,” he finally whispers.

“All right,” he says, still unable to breathe. Harry motions for the gun as he steps close enough to touch the young man. To run his knuckles over his cheeks. “Give me the gun, Eggsy.”

The cool metal touches his gloved hands and he feels an overwhelming sense of relief as Eggsy drops his head onto his shoulder. Even through layers upon layers of clothing, the heat of the lad’s skin radiates alarmingly, though it does nothing to stop Harry from kissing his forehead.

“I believe we have a date with medical,” he whispers into Eggsy’s hair. “We really ought to stop meeting like this, darling.”

“Sod off,” the young man mumbles tiredly into his coat.

Harry has a pun on hand to make Eggsy groan when he hears a series of voices shouting, Merlin’s cursing above all of the rest.

Two gunshots ring out across the night and a body falls onto the gravel while another one slumps against him.

It takes a moment for Harry’s mind to catch up, but when it does, he realizes that a good portion of Vesper’s brains are lying on the snow and his glove is covered in blood.

Eggsy’s blood.

He looks into his lover’s eyes, watching the disbelief spread over his lovely face as he begins to sink towards the ground, his thoughts as clear as day.  _What has happened? Why me?_

“Shit,” Harry shouts, holding Eggsy close and pressing a hand against the steady flow of blood pooling from the material of his jacket. “Merlin! I need help!”

The young man’s legs give out and he falls into Harry’s chest without a sound, breathing rapidly even as he’s lowered to the ground. “Shit, shit, fuck!” the older man curses as he undoes the buttons of Eggsy’s jacket and slips his hand inside to apply more pressure to the gunshot wound. “Merlin!”

“ETA is one minute,” his friend shouts, breathless. Harry absently thinks that he must be running. “Ambulance is two and a half.”

Harry yells wordlessly, wishing that he had shot Vesper himself. “Fucking Christ!” he manages, trying to ignore the amount of fluid leaving Eggsy’s body. “Tell them to hurry the fuck up!”

Eggsy blinks up at him uncomprehendingly as the pain goes from a dull ache and slowly surges as it builds up and spreads over him. Harry knows that feeling, having experienced himself. It’s the worst sort of pain and possibly the most frightening.

“Shh,” Harry hushes, cupping his face with his free hand. Christ, it feels good to touch him again. “Eggsy, look at me. It’s alright, my darling. You’re going to be fine.”

Green eyes stare back at him, watering at the unfathomable pain. “Harry,” he whispers, tears escaping and disappearing into his hair.

“Eggsy, it will be alright,” he assures softly, blinking back tears of his own.

Harry doesn’t want to watch the pull of the young man’s eyelids under heavier snowfall or the pool of crimson spreading out from under them, nor the pallor of death that’s beginning to form upon his skin.

He wants the life they should have: the one where they save the world and are happy with none of this dying nonsense.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest and greatest thank yous to Bre (forever and ever and ever times a million), Leah, Dommi, Ronald, Liv, Mara and every single one of you who has yelled at me.

In the end, Eggsy loses a kidney and nearly a liter of blood.

The waiting room is filled with silence, save for Percival’s snorts while he dozes with Roxy’s head resting upon his shoulder and his jacket covering her like a makeshift blanket. It’s a sweet picture, one which Merlin takes on his phone’s camera to lighten the mood. “Blackmail,” he explains, tucking the device away.

Harry offers an ashen grin and goes back to staring at the cream-colored walls of the Berlin branch’s medical corridor.

“The lad won’t let a bullet stand in the way of being with you,” Merlin tells him, clasping Harry’s shoulder. “He’s far too stubborn for that.”

Quiet befalls the room once more and sleep evades them, not that Harry could sleep even if he tried. He reckons if he closed his eyes, all he would see is Eggsy’s half-dead body cradled against his chest.

It’s his worst nightmare come to fruition: watching the life drain from the young man’s eyes while there’s nothing Harry can do for him.

He must drift off without realizing it, for he’s startled by Merlin’s hand shaking his arm. Harry blinks as the waiting room comes back into focus; it’s just he and his friend. Percival and Roxy must have gone off at some point, probably to the guest wing for a proper rest.

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Hanover greets, wearing a pair of surgical scrubs.

Harry rushes to his feet, bracing himself for the worst possible news. He notices another doctor, a blonde woman in a scrubs. Attractive in an Eastern European sort of way and _rotbäckig_ , as the Germans say.

“This is _die Ärztin_ Johanna Fromm, the lead surgeon on Galahad’s case,” Dr. Hanover introduces as Harry and Merlin exchange handshakes with her.

She gives both of them a friendly, reassuring smile. “Agent Galahad is well,” she says, motioning them to follow her down the corridor. Dr. Fromm explains the extent of his injuries and how they are being treated, post-surgery.

“The antitoxin was administered during the procedure,” she tells them, coming to a stop by an observation window. “Before Dr. Hanover and I came to fetch you, Agent Galahad’s panels showed that his protein markers were already nearing the normal range.”

It surprises Harry when she pushes open the door behind them and walks inside; actually, startles is a more accurate description. He files in after Merlin and is greeted by the beeps and thrums of medical equipment, of Eggsy’s vital signs - his heartbeat, his pulse.

All the things to tell Harry that he’s alive.

Dr. Fromm pulls back the curtain divider and for the first time in hours, he sees Eggsy. From the plastic tubes and Kingsman issued pajamas, electrode wires attached to the pale skin and that godawful cannula shoved up his nostrils; Eggsy is alive.

His skin might be the same shade as the pillows under his head, but his heart still pumps blood through his veins and his lungs still breathe in oxygen. The circumstances are less than ideal, but Harry won’t complain. He goes to Eggsy’s bedside and has a seat in the empty chair next to the IV pole, carefully lifting the young man’s hand off the blankets to cover it with his own.

It’s warm, as it should be.

“We are keeping him sedated for the next twelve hours while the antitoxin does its work,” Dr. Hanover interjects kindly. He adjusts his glasses. Dr. Fromm is gone, probably having other patients to attend to. “Though, if I may be honest, I wouldn’t expect much out of Galahad with all of medication and healing he has to do, especially with the infection and fever.”

Merlin stands at the foot of the hospital bed, appearing wholly disturbed by the sight in front of him. “When can we bring him back home?” he asks.

“Two days, I reckon,” Dr. Hanover replies. “I will need to confer with Dr. Fromm about his progress and make arrangements with Arthur, but I don’t see why all of us need to remain here longer than we have to.”

Eventually, the doctor leaves them and Harry nearly forgets Merlin is even there until he clears his throat. When he turns, his friend has removed his glasses and is tiredly rubbing his eyelids.

“I need to get some sleep before a debriefing with Arthur. She’ll want to know Eggsy’s status,” he explains. “Will you be alright?”

Harry never responds; he’s not sure how to.

 

* * *

 

Forty-eight hours later, they are all on the jet headed back to England.

The flight is uneventful and Harry spends most of it observing Roxy while she rests her cheek against Eggsy’s shoulder. Their hands are twined together—his unmoving while her thumb runs over his knuckles—and the young lady seems happy with the arrangement.

It’s very rare that Eggsy is so quiet, after all.

Every exhale fogs up the oxygen mask strapped to the lower portion of Eggsy’s face, obscuring his nose and mouth from view. Every so often, Dr. Hanover rises from his seat to come check on his patient and does his best not to disturb Roxy.

It is a kind gesture, Harry thinks as he watches the doctor nodding in satisfaction before sitting back down. He reckons that Roxy will have very little time to spend with her friend before she must return to the field, so moments like these are precious.

She lifts her head to briefly glance out the window and turns her attention back to Eggsy. Roxy grins down at his sleeping face, pressing her lips to his temple before brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead.

It’s over far too soon and she is nestled against Eggsy’s shoulder once more, eyes shut like before.

They land on the tarmac at HQ a little under two hours later where the medical team and Arthur await their arrival in the hangar. Once the jet has taxied inside and the stairs released, the medics board with a gurney to be used for Eggsy’s transportation off the plane.

As Dr. Hanover instructs the medical team, Arthur steps into the cabin, looking mildly stunned at the young man’s condition.

“Xavier,” she calls, earning the doctor’s attention. “The Blakeney guest suite in the West Wing has been prepared per your instructions.”

He nods. “Ah yes. Thank you, Arthur,” he says before exiting the cabin with his team.

Roxy is the first to speak. “The Blakeney suite, ma’am? I thought that Galahad would be recovering in the medical corridor.”

“Both Dr. Hanover and I felt that Galahad would be more comfortable in a less clinical environment,” Arthur explains, offering a smile. “It also allows his mother and JB—is that his dog’s name? Jesus, very odd—to visit him without having Kingsman security clearance.”

The young lady nods at her superior’s answer, clearly pleased. “That is very kind of you, ma’am.”

“I am known to be every now and then,” Arthur quips. “Come along, you lot. All of you look like you need a vacation or a stiff drink.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, lifting his bag over his shoulder. “Both would be nice since you’re in the giving mood.”

“Tread carefully, Merlin,” she warns as she steps off the plane.

 

* * *

 

Though Harry is given a room in the guest wing of Kingsman HQ, he hardly uses it other than to shower and change.

He eats, sleeps, and breathes in Eggsy’s room, and oddly enough, no one has the heart to stop him. Harry never speaks to him, wanting to save his apologies and declarations of love for when the young man is awake and is content just to touch him. He presses Eggsy’s fingers to his face, feeling dried knuckles against his mouth, or brushes the young man’s hair off his feverish skin.

When Eggsy opens his eyes, it’s only never long enough for him to make sense of his surroundings. His body is too tired, too weak from the damage it's sustained, and quietly pulls him back under. He never knows that Harry’s right at his side.

 _The universe is a right bitch_ , Harry thinks.

Michelle Unwin comes every day with JB trotting behind her while Daisy is at preschool. She tolerates Harry’s presence, though he reckons that she must wonder what on earth this strange man is always doing in her son’s room.

It is the fifth afternoon they’ve been back on English soil and the fourth that the pug has clambered over the bed linens, minding his master’s body, and made himself at home in the apex of Eggsy’s arm. JB lets out a sigh as he rests his tawny head and closes his eyes.

“Dogs always have a sixth sense about these things,” Michelle says as she strokes her son’s arm. She looks up at Harry, the sunlight softening her features. “When their person is ill.”

He shrugs. “I’ve always thought they show the truest form of unconditional love.”

“Is that true, JB?” she asks, earning the pug’s attention. Michelle smiles when he lifts his head. “Do you love Eggsy unconditionally?”

He wiggles closer to the young man and licks his fingers in reply.

“I suppose that answers that,” Michelle declares, reaching over to scratch JB’s head. When she moves back to be seated, Eggsy lets out a groan, ceasing all activity in the room.

His eyelids tighten and release as he tilts his head towards Michelle’s voice. “Mum?” Eggsy says hoarsely.

“Hey, love,” Michelle greets calmly, leaning over to place a hand against his forehead where her thumb strokes the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here. How’ya feeling?”

Eggsy settles into the gesture, smacking his dry lips together. “Feelin’ hot,” Harry hears him whisper.

“Hold on just a tick,” his mother tells him. “I’ll be right back,” She disappears into the en-suite bathroom and it’s followed by the sound of water running. Michelle comes back out with two damp flannels in hand only a minute later. “Eggsy.”

Harry stands at the end of the bed, watching while Mrs. Unwin unclasps the first three buttons of Eggsy’s pajamas as she whispers to him. His eyes are open now, though unfocused and glazed over.

Michelle folds the first flannel into a neat square and rests it on her son’s chest before doing the same to the other and laying it on his forehead. “Better now, love?” she inquires, running her fingers through his disheveled hair.

Harry notices her pressing the call button.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, relaxing into her touch with a feeble grin. “Less nuclear than before.”

“A hot plate, perhaps?” Michelle teases. “JB is here, too. Aren’t you, you little minx?”

Eggsy curls his fingers around the pug’s front paw, giving it a placid squeeze. “Missed me, yeah?”

“We all did,” Harry adds before he realizes it. He finds himself looking into Eggsy’s mesmerizing green eyes—the color of leaves in sunlight, of fields in spring, of black seasons in his childhood where the waters would tinge glaucous while the fog loomed overhead.

Still, all of it pales in comparison to being able to see his lover staring back at him.

“It’s you,” Eggsy whispers, his frail grin growing into a smile.

Harry nods. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Die Ärztin_ \- female doctor  
>  _Rotbäckig_ \- rosy-cheeked


End file.
